


Lovebug

by zimriya



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23295055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: “Look, I can’t go talk to Jaehyun,” Taeyong says. “The only reason I know him is because we have the same shitty, two-timing ex-boyfriend whocheated on both of uswith the other! I can’t ask him out! Stop looking at me like that!”
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 36
Kudos: 538





	Lovebug

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the totally true events that happened this year at the [San Antonio Zoo](https://sazoo.org/valentine/). 
> 
> Betaed by Hexmen, who is a GIFT to us all.

Taeyong would like the record to show that it’s not his idea to spend Valentine’s Day at the Seoul Grand Park Zoo paying to name a cockroach after his horrible, no-good, two-timing ex-boyfriend, Park Kyungchul. But then, Taeyong hadn’t expected to have a horrible, no-good, two-timing ex-boyfriend, let alone in time for Valentine’s Day. Taeyong thought he’d be spending Valentine’s Day with said Park Kyungchul, but in a far more romantic sort of way. And, sure, it has been nearly two months since he learned of said horrible two-timing, and yes, Taeyong has been more than a little maudlin (bordering on outright shameful), but he’s not a petty person, and naming a cockroach after an ex-boyfriend just so he can watch a zookeeper feed it to an animal seems more than just petty. It seems… unnecessary. Taeyong’s like… mostly over the whole two-timing thing. He’s even started leaving the apartment for more than just groceries again.

Taeyong doesn’t need to name a cockroach Kyungchul and watch a bird devour it.

Taeyong is at peace.

Taeyong is also tragically best friends with Kim Doyoung and Ten Lee.

 _Doyoung and Ten_ think this is the best idea that Taeyong’s ever had, even though it absolutely _was not Taeyong’s idea_. All Taeyong did was mention in passing that he’d read about a promotion the zoo was doing on Instagram. Doyoung and Ten were the ones who latched onto the event like it was the next big boyband, called in the big guns (Johnny), and executed a plan to drag Taeyong out of the apartment on Valentine’s Day at exactly four-thirty p.m. on the dot, so they could take him to the zoo. 

Taeyong may need to find new best friends.

“It’ll be cathartic,” Doyoung says, as he hauls Taeyong by one arm in the direction indicated by all the conveniently labeled signs, done up with broken hearts and cockroaches. “You need this.”

“What Doyoungie said,” agrees Ten, holding Taeyong by the other arm. “You absolutely need this.”

“I don’t need this,” Taeyong says, for what feels like the five hundredth time since they’ve arrived at the zoo. They had to take the train, and Johnny had to physically lift Taeyong onto said train, and that’s the only reason he’s walking on his own right now. He hadn’t thought his friends would go that far, but it turns out being fireman carried onto public transportation by one of your friends while another one of them very loudly announces to anyone and everyone that the situation is, “under control,” and the last one of them pretends to be a foreigner from Thailand (which, Ten is, but he’s better at languages than Taeyong, given he’s also studying Mandarin because of his roommate Kun) is embarrassing enough to consider fleeing the entire Korean peninsula. Taeyong would not like a repeat performance. Taeyong is going to keep walking.

“You do,” says Ten.

“You do,” agrees Doyoung. “Youngho-hyung,” he adds, tilting his head towards Johnny, who’s following after them at a more sedentary pace, buried in his phone. “Tell Taeyongie-hyung this’ll be good for him.”

“This’ll be good for you,” Johnny parrots back immediately.

Taeyong really wishes Johnny wasn’t so much taller and stronger than him. “We could have just watched the livestream?” he tries, with a beseeching look towards Ten.

Ten just pats him on the head patronizingly. “There there,” he says. “It’ll all be better once you watch a Guira cuckoo devour Kyungchul-asshole.”

Taeyong blinks. “I have no idea what those words were that just came out of your mouth.”

“Guira cuckoo,” says Doyoung. “They’re the bird we’re going to see eat your ex-boyfriend.”

Taeyong winces, as he always does when reminded of the fact that he has an ex-boyfriend, and Doyoung’s expressions softens for two seconds before he gets a hard glint in his eyes.

“Taeyong-hyung,” he says. “Think of this like throwing away all your hard feelings.”

Taeyong fights the urge to flee the scene, torn between arguing the point—he’s over Kyungchul, honestly, it’s just… depressing to learn that the person he’d been thinking of spending the rest of his life with just thought of him as another pretty face to fuck—and giving Doyoung a hug. Maybe he won’t get new friends, despite the fact that Doyoung brought Johnny and gave him “the signal” to hoist Taeyong off of the train platform. “I don’t have any hard feelings,” he mutters.

“Uh-huh,” says Doyoung. They’ve reached the enclosure, where a surprising number of other people have gathered. They’re mostly women, which really is not all that comforting.

“Couldn’t we have just watched the live stream?” Taeyong tries again, as Ten and Doyoung find a place right up by the fence with what they deem is a good enough view and release him. They stay flanked on either side in case Taeyong tries to pull a runner, but the presence of cameras, microphones, and more than a few news teams that came to cover the spectacle keeps Taeyong frozen where they’ve planted him.

“No,” says Doyoung. “You need to hear the crunch of his death, Taeyong-hyung.”

Taeyong turns his gaze toward the enclosed birds, noting they look nothing like how he’d thought a cuckoo would, and how there’s no way he’s going to be hearing _any_ sort of crunch. He looks back at Doyoung with what he’s not ashamed to say are puppy dog eyes. “Nobody’s going to be able to hear the crunch,” he says. “This isn’t ASMR.”

Doyoung eyes one of the microphones set up for the zookeepers. “It could be,” he says. “It should be,” he says. “Think of the killing they’d make on Youtube.”

“Because people want to watch ASMR videos of birds eating cockroaches,” Taeyong says.

“Birds eating cockroaches named after people’s shitty exes,” Ten pipes in. “Don’t forget—that’s the important part. The shitty ex part.”

Taeyong glares at him. “I’m aware that you hated Kyungchulie from the beginning, Ten-ah,” he says. “You’ve only told me like five thousand times.”

Ten narrows his eyes at him. “Just for that I’m buying you another cockroach,” he says. “‘Kyungchulie’—I might just gag.”

Taeyong flushes despite himself but lifts his chin. Old habits die hard, it seems. Even though it has been nearly two months. Maybe Taeyong should buy two cockroaches. Or three—four—five—surely they’re not going to do every single submitted name, and the more opportunities he has for the zookeeper to pick Kyungchul’s name, the better. “Wait, Ten,” he says, halting Ten in his tracks.

For two seconds his friend looks resigned, then more than a little stubborn, then impassive. He waits for Taeyong to speak.

“I’ll go with you,” Taeyong says quickly, and links their arms. “Uh—thank you,” he adds. “For dragging me.”

Ten shoots him a quick smile, giving Taeyong’s arm a squeeze, tugging him so that they’re lined up side-to-side. “You’re welcome,” he says quietly.

Taeyong smiles.

“Excuse you, it was my idea too,” says Doyoung.

Taeyong turns to face his roommate with even larger puppy dog eyes. “Thank you, Dongyoung-ah,” he says, just to watch Doyoung twitch like he always does whenever anyone uses the name he went by until he left high school. Taeyong’s still not a hundred percent sold on the logic behind the name change—it’s not legal, or anything, and Doyoung’s parents still call him Dongyoung whenever he puts them on speaker because he’s drowning under his workload—but Doyoung wants to be Doyoung, so Taeyong does his best to call him Doyoung.

Except for in extenuating circumstances, like when Doyoung throws a fit because Taeyong forgot to include him in his “thanks for dragging me to the zoo to feed a cockroach named after my ex to an animal.”

“Do you want to come too?” Taeyong says, gesturing towards the harried looking woman taking money and entering names into the raffle bin.

“No,” Doyoung says, even as he takes Taeyong’s other arm and follows him and Ten off. “Yes.”

“Johnny-hyung,” Taeyong calls over his shoulder. “We’re buying more cockroaches.”

Johnny just lifts a hand, still buried in his phone.

“I bet it’s his boyfriend,” Ten says, as they walk. “Whoever it is. Or it’s his mom. He’s such a momma’s boy.”

“His mom’s all the way in Chicago, so he’s allowed,” Doyoung says, no doubt purposefully ignoring the boyfriend mention (they’re all annoyed that Johnny won’t let them in on the secret or do a meet-the-parents, but Doyoung is annoyed most of all). “And you’re one too.”

Ten shrugs, not about to deny it; his baby sister went home for the holidays last month, and Ten had to go too, prior engagements bedamned. It was a family thing, he’d explained, and Taeyong gave him shit for it because that was what friends were for, but ultimately he thought it was cute.

“What if we name one after Kim Youngmin-seonsaengnim?” asks Ten as they reach the end of the queue. He lets go of Taeyong’s arm. “Too bold? In bad taste?”

“I vote Cho-seonsaengnim,” Doyoung says, releasing Taeyong’s arm as well and brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “I bet he’d find it funny.”

“There’s no way Cho-seonsaengnim is watching a livestream of people naming cockroaches after their exes,” Taeyong says dryly, thinking of Doyoung’s favorite law professor.

“You don’t know that,” says Doyoung. “I swear he’s got a secret gaming channel, and I’m going to find it before we graduate.”

Taeyong hides a grin behind a hand. “Yeah okay.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes. “You wait.”

Taeyong drops his hand, still grinning. “But really, thank you both. I—” And what was going to be a frankly heartfelt and touching speech gets cut off when Taeyong catches sight of an unfairly pretty head of ash grey hair, standing probably too close to the fence, bowed over the newest iPhone. His heart feels like it’s in his throat, preventing speech. His palms might be sweating. Steam may be coming out of his ears. It feels like he’s fucking _malfunctioning_.

“Doyoung-ah,” Taeyong says, whispers. “Doyoung-ah.”

Doyoung just keeps arguing with Ten about the logistics of naming a cockroach after one of their professors, watching the girl in front of them talk the zoo employee’s head off about her own horrible, no-good ex-boyfriend with one eye.

“Doyoung-ah,” Taeyong says again, louder this time.

His friend turns, still talking with Ten, but tips his head in acknowledgement.

“That’s—” Taeyong lowers his voice, glancing around like someone’s going to overhear them; like any of the other sorry assholes queueing to name vermin after their exes give a damn about Taeyong and his existential crisis. “That’s _Jeong Jaehyun_.”

Doyoung glances where Taeyong’s looking now, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation.

“That’s Jeong _Jaehyun_ ,” Taeyong says again, like emphasizing the given name will help. Clearly Doyoung has no idea who Jeong Jaehyun is, let alone why just the sight of him is enough to have Taeyong breaking out into a cold sweat. “ _Jeong Jaehyun_ ,” Taeyong says for the third time, and then physically jumps when another boy drops an arm around said Jeong Jaehyun’s shoulders, his expression incandescent all the way across the path. “Shit,” Taeyong says, when Jeong Jaehyun turns his attention away from his phone and to the boy, when Jeong Jaehyun smiles and it’s just as radiant and dimpled as Taeyong remembered it being on Christmas Day. “Shit—Doyoung-ah—what do I do?”

“Jeong Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, looking back where Taeyong is. “Jeong Jaehyun?” He looks at Taeyong, then at Ten. “Jeong Jaehyun? Who is Jeong Jaehyun?”

“Stop saying his name!” Taeyong hisses, watching as Jeong Jaehyun and his friend bend over Jeong Jaehyun’s phone and then laugh together this time, clearly pleased.

Doyoung opens his mouth like he’s going to say it one more time, and Taeyong slaps a hand over it before he can. He gets a tongue to the palm for his trouble and can’t even be angry; he was basically asking for it.

“That’s the guy who answered Kyungchuli—Kyungchul-asshole’s door,” Taeyong says. “Jeong Jaehyun.” The name’s starting to lose meaning, Taeyong and Doyoung have uttered it so many times. “The guy that asshole cheated on me with,” he finishes with. “Jeong Jaehyun.”

Jeong Jaehyun and his friend are no longer bowed over his phone, but whatever they’re talking about must be riveting, because Taeyong doesn’t think either of them have blinked the whole conversation.

When he drags his gaze away, Doyoung is squinting rather obviously at Jeong Jaehyun. “Huh,” he says. “Huh.”

Taeyong feels sweat bead in between his shoulder blades. “Huh?” he says.

His friend shrugs. “Just… He’s very attract—ugly to look at?” he very quickly transitions to, after a furtive glance at Ten over Taeyong’s head. “I, um, don’t understand why that bastard slept with him.”

Taeyong fights the urge to shut his eyes on the unfortunate mental image that brings up, the added bonus of him knowing what Jeong Jaehyun looks like without a shirt only making matters worse. “Technically they didn’t sleep together,” he says. “You know, since I interrupted them.”

There’s a pause.

Doyoung looks like he regrets a lot of his life choices. “Yeah, well, he’s not all that.”

There’s another pause.

“Right, Ten?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s hot as fuck—” says Ten.

Doyoung steps on his foot.

“I mean yes,” says Ten. “It’s a wonder he feels comfortable enough to even go out in public.”

Taeyong narrows his eyes at them. “You both are assholes,” he says.

They both lift their hands, the picture of innocence.

“And also, you’re allowed to say he’s hot,” he says.

The girl in front of them finally seems to be winding down on her story, and the zoo employee looks so relieved she might cry.

Doyoung and Ten are regarding Taeyong like he’s one of the animals in the zoo. “What?” says Doyoung finally.

“He is hot,” Taeyong says. “Of course he’s hot,” Taeyong says. “But he’s taller than me—and got freaking. Dimples.” The first time he saw the dimples he was too busy having an out of body experience because there was a half-naked man in his boyfriend’s apartment, and actually until this moment, Taeyong had not spared more than a passing thought for Jeong Jaehyun. The only reason he knows his name is because it was the first thing they’d said to each other, once Jaehyun finished opening the door: Who are you?

“Who am I?” Taeyong had spit. “Who am I? Who are _you_? _I’m_ Lee Taeyong, Kyungchul’s _boyfriend_.”

“I’m… Jeong Jaehyun,” Jaehyun had answered. “Uh. I’m—”

“Just going,” Kyungchul had said, and then there was a lot of yelling.

Taeyong knows that that’s Jeong Jaehyun.

Taeyong would like for that _not_ to be Jeong Jaehyun. He looks back at Ten. 

“Doyoung,” says Ten. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“It depends what you’re seeing,” says Doyoung. “Are you seeing Lee Taeyong talking about a hot guy?”

“Look, you guys—”

“And implying that he is also a hot guy, instead of a sad loser who deserved to get cheated on by that cockroach-asshole?” Doyoung continues. “Because if so, yes.”

“Doyoung—”

Ten reaches out and takes Taeyong’s face between both hands. “Taeyong-hyung,” he says, sounding like a proud parent. “You’re having an emotion.”

Taeyong is seriously debating paying the zookeeper an ungodly amount of money so he can feed Ten to a lion, or something. “Look you guys,” he says. “So, I think Jaehyun’s hot. It’s not a big deal.”

“Jaehyun,” Ten says, still holding Taeyong’s cheeks.

“Jaehyun,” agrees Doyoung, smiling radiantly at the both of them with sparkles in his eyes.

“I will kill you both,” says Taeyong, voice affected by the hold Ten has on his face. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, okay,” says Ten, not sounding convinced, but finally releasing Taeyong, anyway. “We’d like to buy three tickets that say Park Dick Kyungchul.”

The zoo employee had been looking quite relieved to see someone other than the girl in front of them, but immediately her expression dims. “I’m sorry,” she says apologetically. “We’re only allowed to put first names.” Then she pauses, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Three for Kyungchul? That’s funny, you’re the second person to ask for that name today, and, uh, we have a limit of ten, but I guess because you’re a different person…” She trails off, looking uncomfortable, and Taeyong wants the ground to swallow him whole.

Of course, they’re the second people to ask for Kyungchul. Jaehyun’s here. Jaehyun was dating Kyunchul. Jaehyun is Kyungchul’s ex-boyfriend, too. Taeyong’s life is a disaster movie. “Ten—”

“Oh, really?” Ten says brightly, dropping an arm around Taeyong’s shoulders that feels like lead. “We’re actually here for my friend, though.”

“Murder—” Taeyong says out of the side of his mouth.

“Kyungchul is the asshole who decided to date someone else at the same time as him. Who knows how many hearts he’s broken?”

“And also there is a severe limit to the number of names people can have,” Doyoung mutters, seemingly unable to help himself.

Ten helpfully elbows him in the side and keeps smiling at the poor zoo employee.

“Oh.” The woman is looking far less apologetic and far more vindictive. She lowers her voice, glances over at the zookeepers gathering in front of the camera doing Rock-Paper-Scissors to decide who’s going to lead the show; the shorter one wins and makes a huge fuss out of it, getting smacked at least three times by his taller, gummy-smiled partner. “Well, I think we can make an exception in that case.” She pauses. “And that’s Kyungchul? And you want the maximum number of tickets?”

“With a giyeok,” Ten says happily. “You’re amazing.”

The woman is even blushing.

Taeyong sighs. “Thank you,” he says. “How much?”

The woman rattles off the price and Doyoung pays before Taeyong can, and in between it all, he almost manages to forget about Jeong Jaehyun.

Until Kyungchul’s name comes out of the jar a total of seven times, and each time Ten and Doyoung loudly cheer for the poor cockroach’s demise alongside Jaehyun’s entire entourage. Jaehyun’s entourage turns out to be more than just the boy from before. No, Jaehyun’s there with Nakamoto Yuta, who Taeyong knows from freshman bio lab, and who Ten is actually more than friendly with because they’re both graduate students. Clearly Yuta was the one going around paying for tons of tickets with Kyungchul’s name, because he seems particularly gleeful at the spectacle. Although, given the radiant expression on Jaehyun’s face when two of the birds fight over Park Kyungchul the second, it’s likely Jaehyun also flirted his way to extra tickets.

“Um, we’re going to have to institute a no more repeats policy,” says the shorter zookeeper, after the seventh iteration of Kyungchul’s name. “Sorry, whoever you are. I’m sure this Kyungchul was an asshole.”

“You can’t swear on Facebook, Donghae-yah!” hisses the other zookeeper.

“Sorry,” the man says. “Uh…” He pulls another name. “Junsu.”

Taeyong tears his gaze away from whatever that was, in time to meet eyes with Jeong Jaehyun himself. It appears he’s finally noticed Taeyong and Taeyong’s terrible friends standing on the other end of the enclosure. He frowns, brows furrowing, but he clearly recognizes Taeyong, because he leans closer to Yuta and starts whispering. “Shit,” Taeyong says, as Yuta also looks in their direction this time. “Shit—Ten, I’ll kill you—”

“But I like Yuta-hyung,” Ten whines, pouting a little. “Look, Taeyongie-hyung, it’s not a big deal. You’re clearly here for the same reason—”

“I think he’s hot and I wouldn’t be opposed to dating him,” Taeyong blurts quickly, before Ten can finish that sentence. “But it’s impossible. Jaehyun and I are impossible.”

“Taeyong—”

“Look, I can’t go talk to him,” Taeyong says. “The only reason I know him is because we have the same shitty, two-timing ex-boyfriend who _cheated on both of us_ with the other!”

Ten’s mouth has fallen open, and he very quickly closes it.

“And now we’re at the zoo paying to name _cockroaches_ after said shitty, two-timing ex-boyfriend!” Taeyong finishes with. “I cannot _fucking_ ask him out! Stop looking at me like that!”

Ten purses his lips. “Oh,” he says. “You… want to ask him out.”

“Ten!” Taeyong says.

“Right,” Ten says. “Right.”

“Yeah, right,” Doyoung agrees, finally giving Taeyong’s conundrum the gravity it deserves. “Uh. Johnny-hyung, you said you needed to get back to campus for a meeting?”

Johnny blinks at the three of them over the top of his phone. “No?” he says.

Doyoung narrows his eyes.

“I mean yes,” Johnny says, and pivots. “Uh—Immediately.”

On the train, standing because it’s dinner rush and there are no seats, Johnny puts a hand on Taeyong’s shoulder and smiles. “I’m glad you’re starting to think about seeing other people, Taeyong-ah.”

Taeyong shifts closer and drops his chin onto Johnny’s arm. “Thanks, Johnny-hyung, but my point about it being impossible still stands.” He sighs. “Even though he’s apparently got a sense of humor and looks like a runway model.” He pauses, thinking. “And an outie belly button.”

Behind them, Ten appears to choke on air, but Doyoung very kindly keeps him from saying anything.

“Anyway, when are you going to tell us who you’re seeing?” Taeyong continues.

Johnny’s eyes go huge. “What?” He leans in and mimes pulling out non-existent headphones. “Oh, sorry, I don’t—English—” he says, _in Korean_ , and Taeyong rolls his eyes.

“We’ll get it out of you one day, Hyung,” he says.

Johnny just keeps smiling at Taeyong and he doesn’t have Jaehyun’s dimples, but Taeyong totally doesn’t care.

* * *

On Friday Taeyong has a lunch date with his sister, a video call with his mother, and so much anxiety about the beginning of his final year and his uncertain future in the fashion industry that Doyoung has to come fetch him from the arts building at eleven p.m., where he’d ended up poking more holes in his fingers than the ballgown he was working on. He crawls home so exhausted that it’s a wonder he doesn’t fall asleep in the shower, but somehow he ends up put to bed—Kim Doyoung really is a lifesaver. Come that Saturday morning (read: eleven _a.m._ ) the first thing he decides he needs to do is find an open coffee shop and get a caffeine fix.

It’s a great plan.

The caffeine addict in Taeyong is thrilled.

The rest of him is far too busy being horrified about the fact that the shop he’s picked is packed to the brim with other people, and so the only empty spot is at the window bar, next to Jeong Jaehyun. Because it’s clearly Jeong Jaehyun. Taeyong’s not in the business of gawking at strangers, but Jaehyun isn’t really a stranger (only he totally is, what the hell, brain, what the hell?) and he’s not looking back, or anything. He’s bent over a textbook with a pen in his mouth and what looks like an untouched cup in front of him. But it’s his hair that gives him away. Taeyong’s never seen another person who wasn’t an idol with silver hair.

It suits him.

It’s almost enough to distract Taeyong from the fact that he’ll have to go _sit next to him_.

“Oh my God,” Taeyong says, as the barista hands him his order.

“I’m sorry?” the man says.

“That’ll be five thousand won?” says Taeyong, trying valiantly to look cool.

“Uh, yeah,” says the barista.

Taeyong pays and bows and has a full conversation in his head weighing the pros and cons of leaving and walking home with his coffee or sitting down and inhaling the stuff like he’s honestly dying to do. He ends up at the empty chair next to Jaehyun. He sits down in the empty chair next to Jaehyun. He sips his coffee. He does not look at Jaehyun. Perhaps Jaehyun will be too busy with his textbook to notice Taeyong. Perhaps Taeyong will escape this incredibly awkward situation unscathed. Perhaps Jaehyun—

Taeyong recognizes Jaehyun’s textbook as one Johnny definitely had and nearly chokes on his next sip of coffee.

Perhaps Jaehyun goes to SM University _as well_ ; that would certainly explain why Yuta was with him at the zoo on Thursday.

Taeyong decides to put the coffee down, since it’s too hot for him to be inhaling it as a distraction, and it’s likely he’ll actually choke on his next mouthful. It clatters onto the table with way too much noise, and Taeyong feels every single muscle in his body lock in place.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You okay there?” says a voice, and it’s just as deep and melodic as Taeyong remembers it being from the time a shirtless Jaehyun opened the door to Kyungchul’s apartment. He doesn’t respond, because responding would mean Jaehyun might look at him, which he’s not. Taeyong can see out of the corner of his eye; Jaehyun’s still got most of his attention on the textbook, the pen only hovering near his unfairly attractive mouth. And fuck if that’s not weird, Taeyong’s weird fixation on how pretty he is. He’s incredibly pretty, but Taeyong’s incredibly pretty—Taeyong’s best friends are incredibly pretty. Taeyong’s ex-boyfriend was incredibly pretty and look how that turned out.

Jeong Jaehyun may look like he ought to have gone into the entertainment industry instead of apparently studying business—and part of Taeyong finds that hot too, and nothing about Johnny’s course load should be attractive period—but he’s still just _a guy_ , and also, _a guy that Taeyong only knows because they both got two-timed by the same shitty ex._

“Uh, fine,” says Taeyong, because his mother raised him right and he can’t just ignore kindness. “Thanks.”

Jaehyun’s pen drops even further, but he keeps looking at his textbook. “If it helps, I do know the Heimlich,” he says, and even the German sounds sexy. Taeyong is… perhaps Taeyong should see a doctor, or go home for the rest of winter session, since classes are over and everything. “Although I’ve never actually done it,” Jaehyun has continued. “Which.” He shrugs, then pauses, and shoots Taeyong a frankly insulting little smirk. (That it’s only insulting because it makes his mouth somehow _even prettier_ is irrelevant information and Taeyong would like it stricken from the record, thanks.) “That’s probably a good thing—oh.” It’s likely Jaehyun’s finally recognized Taeyong by looking and that’s… That should be a good thing.

Taeyong doesn’t have that distinctive of a voice.

People are always telling him does, but since people are usually Doyoung whenever Taeyong comes out of the shower and _Doyoung’s_ shower serenades are literally so good Taeyong is convinced that he’s one day going to summon an idol casting agent into their bathroom, he doesn’t put much stock in that.

And it’s not like Taeyong did a lot of talking, when he and Jaehyun first met.

Kyungchul did most of the talking… begging.

Jaehyun very kindly put on a shirt and didn’t say a word to Taeyong the entire time he was crying in the elevator down to the lobby.

There’s no reason Jaehyun should have recognized Taeyong by his voice alone. Taeyong is being ridiculous.

“I’m glad,” he says, since Jaehyun’s stopped talking and is now just fully staring at Taeyong. “I mean, that you haven’t had to do the Heimlich maneuver—I mean—fuck—”

“Lee Taeyong,” Jaehyun says, pointing at Taeyong with his pen. “Right?”

Taeyong wants the ground to swallow him whole. “Jeong Jaehyun,” he says, feeling like an idiot.

Jaehyun’s head dips. “I saw you at the zoo on Thursday.” For some reason Jaehyun’s lips twitch. “On Valentine’s Day.”

Taeyong does not like where this is going. He starts to nod.

“On my birthday,” says Jaehyun.

That throws Taeyong for a loop. “You were born on Valentine’s Day?” he manages. That’s adorable. Maybe Jaehyun is jaded because of it and doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body, though. Or maybe Jaehyun has embraced it and only has romantic bones in his body. Taeyong prays it’s the first one, because the second one isn’t helping the part of him that knows Taeyong hasn’t gotten laid since the week before Christmas when he finished finals and is helpfully pointing out that Jaehyun has a really nice jaw. That part of him has no care for the limits of biology and not only would like Taeyong to lick chocolate sauce off of said jaw, but also thinks the children they could have would have really nice jaws.

Jaehyun nods. “My mom calls me her Valentine Boy,” he says. Taeyong notices he’s got nearly no accent on the English, and fuck if that isn’t hot as well.

“Oh, cool,” he says, like an idiot. Apparently Jaehyun doesn’t recognize Taeyong beyond seeing him at the zoo on Thursday—although, how does he know his name? Shit. Taeyong’s _not thinking about that_ —which is good news and shouldn’t make Taeyong feel insulted or anything. Yeah, he was all dolled up to surprise his boyfriend for Christmas complete with the ugliest ugly Christmas sweater he’s ever sewn in his life, but it’s fine that Jaehyun doesn’t totally recognize Taeyong. Taeyong doesn’t want Jaehyun to remember that night. Taeyong is totally fine— “That’s… really sweet—”

“Did you see when those birds fought over Kyungchul the second?” interrupts Jaehyun, dropping his pen onto the table and leaning back in his chair to stretch, extending both hands out towards the window. He’s wearing a butter-soft-looking white Henley, and the movement dips his collar down so that Taeyong can see the start of what looks like a lock necklace lying in the hollow of his throat. “I thought that was particularly funny, given the two of us.”

Taeyong winces. “Shit,” he can’t help but say.

Jaehyun tilts his head at him.

“Sorry,” Taeyong continues. “Sorry—I just—I’m sorry that happened to you. To me. To both of us. Sorry.”

Jaehyun drops his hands down onto his textbook and blinks.

Taeyong busies himself in removing his scarf, unwinding it quietly and then turning to drape it on the back of his chair. When he finishes Jaehyun is still looking at him with surprisingly serious eyes. He is so pale and so pretty and Taeyong is so fucked. “That was kind of the worst day of my life, so,” he says. “I’m sorry you had to be reminded.” He leans forward and clasps his coffee with both hands.

“Uh,” says Jaehyun.

“Anyway, I’ll just finish my coffee and be out of your hair,” Taeyong says, staring straight ahead. “If you’re lucky, we’ll never run into each other again. We’ll even date other people.” He risks a smile and glances back towards Jaehyun. “I mean, you’re gorgeous, and if you were anyone else—if the second time we met wasn’t at that stupid Cry Me a Cockroach event I’d probably ask if you wanted to get coffee on Tuesday, but like. I’ll meet other gorgeous people.” He’s not sure where he’s going with this, but he can’t seem to figure out how to turn off his voice box, basic self-preservation be damned. “I mean, they probably won’t introduce themselves to me while shirtless—thanks for that, by the way. I’ve always thought I needed some motivation to try to get a six pack; not that I have since then, but still, my gym membership thanks you—but—” He stops talking, playing back that last part with horror. “Uh—” He stands, pushing his chair back with a painfully loud screech. “I’ll just go, um. Sorry, Jaehyun-ssi—”

“Tuesday’s good for me,” says Jaehyun simply, cutting into Taeyong’s absurdity with utter calm. “For coffee,” he adds, in case Taeyong somehow misunderstood. “And thanks. I work really hard to stay in shape.”

Taeyong… has no words. “What?” he manages.

“I would love to get coffee with you on Tuesday,” reiterates Jaehyun, turning in his seat to look up at Taeyong with a radiant smile, practically oozing confidence. Then he pauses, a split-second little blip of panic showing from behind his frankly insultingly attractive veneer, and his next smile is a little more brittle. “Unless you were joking about the whole… thinking I’m gorgeous… thing.” He sounds like he doesn’t believe he’s attractive, like people have been going around telling him he’s _not gorgeous_ , and Taeyong very suddenly wants to find all these people and _fight them_.

“You’re stunning,” he says. “What the fuck?”

And now Jaehyun’s fucking _blushing_ , pink blooming on the tips of his ears, visible through the silver sheen of his hair, and traveling down the skin of his milky white neck. Taeyong is in over his head. “Thank you,” Jaehyun says again. Then, extremely, awfully shy, he looks up at Taeyong through his lashes. “Hyung?”

“I’m 95line.” Taeyong hears himself as if through frosted glass. “Tuesday… eleven-thirty?”

Jaehyun nods, ears still blushing but both dimples on display. “Works for me,” he says, then pulls out his phone. “What’s your number? And your ID?”

Taeyong gives both to him, watches him hit call without feeling like he’s breathing, and then somehow manages to have a totally normal conversation about the Bruno Mars song that is his ringback tone. Jaehyun loves Bruno Mars too; collects records and has a record player. The segue into that bit of information is beyond Taeyong, at the moment, but it’s endearing information. Adorable information. Literally so attractive Taeyong kind of can’t believe this is his life.

“And mine’s my legal name—here, let me—” Jaehyun picks up his pen, uncaps it, and grabs Taeyong by the hand.

Taeyong watches him write down the letters of his KakaoTalk ID feeling like he’s somehow ended up in a romantic comedy, heart pounding.

“Text me whenever,” says Jaehyun when he’s done. He seems reluctant to release Taeyong’s hand, but finally he does.

“Yay,” says Taeyong, grabbing his scarf and his coffee. “I’ll see you then, then.” He goes, leaves the coffee shop, trudges through the frigid streets until he arrives back at his and Doyoung’s apartment, keys in their passcode, bends to take off his shoes, and traverses the few feet necessary to drop headfirst across where Doyoung is sprawled out on the couch. He sighs.

Doyoung allows Taeyong to knock the breath out of him with his own sigh, though his is more likely due to the rush of air leaving his lungs than despair from somehow having gotten a date with a cute boy in a coffee shop. One of Doyoung’s hands drops into Taeyong’s hair, and Taeyong curls in closer. “Is that coffee?” Doyoung says, referring to the drink Taeyong’s still clutching in one hand.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, and moves it in the direction of Doyoung’s voice like he’s going to take a sip. He’s not; Doyoung doesn’t like coffee. “Doyoungie I have a date with Jeong Jaehyun on Tuesday.”

Doyoung makes a choked sounding noise and then very kindly shoves Taeyong’s hand gently away. “You what?” he says.

“A date,” Taeyong says. “With Jeong Jaehyun. On Tuesday.”

Doyoung is silent for a moment. “I mean that’s a good thing, right? You’re excited.”

Taeyong thinks of Jaehyun’s sinfully plush mouth, his blushing, ivory ears, his wicked sense of humor that only had a chance to almost come once out once or twice. “So much, Doyoungie,” he says. “I—so much.” He feels giddy and nervous and anxious all wrapped into one. “You don’t think it’s weird—because of Kyungchul?”

“You mean The Cockroach?”

“Doyoung.”

“I don’t think it’s weird, Taeyong-hyung. I’m really happy for you. It’s great that you’ve got a date on Tuesday.”

Taeyong hides a smile in Doyoung’s neck and shifts around across their couch so he can see what his friend was watching on their television. “American variety shows, really, Doyoung-ah?” he says dryly, taking in Tyra Banks.

“Shut up.” Doyoung’s blush is practically audible. “You’re the one who got me hooked—it’s compelling.”

Taeyong will give him that, but Taeyong is a fashion major. Doyoung’s pre-law. They live together, but is it really an excuse?

On the screen, Tyra Banks is in the middle of a frankly iconic speech directed at one of the contestants, who appears to be near tears. So maybe Doyoung has a point. Taeyong smiles, and snuggles closer, taking great pains to elbow Doyoung as much as possible in the process.

His friend groans, and yelps, and then takes the coffee out of Taeyong’s hand two seconds before he dumps him unceremoniously onto their carpet, one-shotting the drink like he doesn’t hate coffee with the power of a thousand suns. “Hyung,” he says when he’s finished and Taeyong has managed to sit up and rub at what feels like bruising on each of his ribs. “No more cuddling. You have a date on Tuesday.”

Taeyong’s heart does a backflip. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, where one missed call from an unknown number is splashed across the screen. He adds Jaehyun to his contacts, taps into KakaoTalk, and finds himself opening a new chat, consulting the writing on the back of his hand for the ID. `Jaehyun-ah`, he types.

`Taeyong-hyung?`

`Hi`, says Taeyong. There’s a pause.

Then: `Hi`, replies Jaehyun.

Taeyong smiles so hard his face hurts.

* * *

Disaster strikes on Monday. At ten a.m. Taeyong wakes when his phone very loudly shouts at him about a new message in KakaoTalk, since apparently he forgot to put his phone on silent the night before, when he was busy destroying all the other idiots playing PubG on the same map as him. The curtains are drawn and his room is pitch black, but the light from his phone screen is like the sun itself. Taeyong groans, knowing if he doesn’t get up his phone will just shout at him five minutes later. It’s almost unbearable trying to make sense of what he’s looking at, let alone reading, but then he realizes it’s a text from Jaehyun, and it’s like getting a bucket of ice water to the face.

`Taeyong-hyung, I’m so sorry`, the message reads. `I won’t be able to make our date tomorrow.`

Taeyong’s heart is in his mouth.

`I promised my friend Mark I’d go with him to his friend Donghyuck’s high school graduation. I’m so sorry. We can reschedule though. When are you free?`

Taeyong stares down at his phone for a long time, and then drops it onto his chest so that he can grab his glasses. It helps with his ability to read hangul but does nothing to help with what Jaehyun’s said. Mark is Jaehyun’s freshman dongsaeng, who lived in Canada and America for most of his childhood. Jaehyun himself spent five years in Connecticut, which explains the lack of accent in his English. They video called yesterday, spent two hours on the phone doing other things in the background because Jaehyun is apparently Taeyong's literal dream person, and wanted to show him his record collection.

`Oh`, he says.

`Hyung, sorrrrrrrry`, replies Jaehyun instantly. `Does Thursday work? Wednesday I have an early lecture and then cooking class and I’m working the rest of the afternoon, but I could do Thursday? We could do dinner instead—my treat?`

Jaehyun works part time in an antique shop in a part of town Taeyong has literally never heard of, and it’s quite honestly _devastating._ The owner’s this crotchety old dude who speaks some form of dialect that Jaehyun really should not be allowed to try to repeat. Half the time they apparently communicate through gestures. 

`I mean`, he finds himself saying. `Thursday dinner is good but I could come to Mark’s friend’s graduation with you, if you want.`

There is resounding silence from Jaehyun.

Taeyong very frantically re-evaluates that offer. “Doyoung-ah!” he shouts in the direction of poor Doyoung’s room. “Are you awake?”

“Tragically!”

“Jaehyunnie has to cancel because he’s going to his friend’s friend’s high school graduation!” shouts Taeyong. “I just invited myself along. Is that weird? That’s weird.”

“I literally have no idea what those words are that you just said, Taeyong-hyung!”

`I think Mark would probably hate me if I turned him into a third wheel`, reads Jaehyun’s reply. `But thanks.`

Taeyong should let it go. That’s an out. Dinner on Thursday is fine. `I could bring my friend Johnny-hyung`, he says instead. `Mark’s from Canada, right? Johnny-hyung’s from Chicago. They could get along!`

Jaehyun pauses. `Mark really does need to get laid`, he says.

Taeyong blinks, trying to remember what Mark looks like from when he saw him at the zoo, and drawing a blank. He starts to type a response.

`It’s SOPA`, Jaehyun says. `Eleven a.m.` And then he adds an address, which has to be his apartment, not the graduation venue. `Let’s meet at mine first?`

`See you there`, says Taeyong, and then, before he can lose his nerve, adds a heart emoji. “Doyoung-ah!” he shouts again. “How much do you think I’ll have to pay Johnny-hyung to go to Jaehyun’s friend’s friend’s graduation with me?”

“Again—no idea what those words are!”

Taeyong drops his phone onto the bed and rolls his eyes.

* * *

It’s actually quite easy to convince Johnny to come with Taeyong to Mark’s friend’s graduation. It’s so easy that Taeyong is suspicious for the entire trek to Jaehyun’s apartment that morning. It’s within walking distance because they go to the same university, but it’s still mid-February, so by the time they reach the building, Taeyong’s hands are well on their way to freezing, and even Johnny “you think this is cold? I’m from Chicago” Suh looks chilled.

“Jaehyun-ah?” Taeyong says, once he’s clicked the buzzer and Jaehyun’s picked up. “It’s, uh, Taeyong-hyung—”

“Wow, you’re right,” Jaehyun’s voice says, crinkled by the intercom static but no less attractive. “You weren’t kidding. He’s like a tree.”

There’s a pause before the door clicks unlocked.

For two seconds, Taeyong and Johnny just stand there. Then Johnny reaches out and grabs the door handle. “Taeyongie,” he says. “Do you go around telling all your dates about how I’m tall like a tree?”

Taeyong ducks his head. “Shut up,” he says. “He tried to cancel on me and I panicked.”

Johnny leads the way into the building and towards the elevators, dipping his head automatically as they go by the empty front desk. “He tried to reschedule on you,” he says. “And really sweetly too—don’t you have a dinner date Thursday?”

“Fuck off,” Taeyong says. “You haven’t seen him. You’ll understand when you see him.”

Johnny hits the button for the elevator with a raised eyebrow. “That’s really vain, Taeyong-ah,” he says.

Taeyong colors. “He’s really _nice_ , Johnny-hyung. Shut up he’s—I really _like_ him, Johnny-hyung. I—I’ll buy you coffee for a week—”

“Taeyongie, stop, it’s fine,” says Johnny as the elevator doors open with a chime. “I’ll go with you to Jaehyun’s friend—”

“Mark,” Taeyong offers.

“Mark—” Johnny stops, expression inscrutable. “Mark?”

“Yeah, Mark Lee,” Taeyong says, the western name order not giving him pause only because of Johnny himself. “It’s his best friend from high school—Lee Donghyuck?—his graduation. Mark’s a freshman. Jaehyun’s like… his hyung, you get it.”

Johnny nods, still looking a little funny (his fingers seem to be twitching towards his pockets), but then he smiles easily at Taeyong. “What floor?”

Despite having memorized the apartment number, Taeyong still pulls up his phone to double check. “Building one, unit twenty-seven,” he reads. “Uh. Two?”

Johnny presses the button for the correct floor, then pulls out his own phone. For a moment, there’s only silence as both of them text. Taeyong messages Ten, who it feels like he hasn’t spoken to in _years_ , and who is very fake upset that Taeyong didn’t update him about his relationship status immediately.

The elevator climbs one floor in a tragic amount of time. Taeyong lowers his phone.

“Thank you, Johnny-hyung,” he says. “Really. Thank you—Mark. Mark’s from Canada, so you’ll have English in common, at least?” He swallows. “I know you’re like… not single… but could you—”

“Taeyong-ah,” Johnny says again, putting a comforting hand on the small of Taeyong’s back. “It’s fine.”

The doors slide open.

Mark Lee is standing on the other side, smiling brightly with a battered looking android phone held in one hand. He’s got a bright green beanie pulled over his ears, dark hair, and glasses. Taeyong recognizes him from the zoo almost instantly, the brilliance of his smile easily connecting the dots. “Hi,” he says politely with a little bow. “You must be Taeyong-hyung and Taeyong-hyung’s friend, Johnny-hyung?”

“Johnny,” Johnny says and shifts like he’s going to shake hands.

“You must be Mark,” Taeyong says before he can do so. They get out of the elevator and stand awkwardly together in the hallway. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” replies Mark. Then, looking significantly more sheepish, he adds, “Thanks for coming to support Donghyuckie. He talks a big game, but I know he’s been lonely since I graduated and started college, and like”—he stops and lowers his voice, even going so far to bring a hand up to shield his mouth—“I know Jaehyun-hyung felt really, really bad about having to cancel on you—” 

Taeyong feels nervous, panicked laughter start to bubble up in his chest. “You’re welcome,” he somehow manages. “Where is Jaehyun?”

“Taeyongie-hyung, hi,” says Jaehyun, pulling the door shut to what has to be unit twenty-seven with a click. He’s got his hair styled fluffy and soft across his entire forehead and he’s wearing Chelsea boots and dark jeans. His peacoat is long and dark brown. Taeyong’s throat goes dry.

Johnny very kindly steps on his foot.

“Ow—hi, Jaehyunnie, hi,” Taeyong says.

Jaehyun smiles at him with both dimples. “And Johnny-hyung—”

“Johnny,” Johnny says, with a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Jaehyun says, with a bow. “Are you ready to go?” he asks Mark.

Mark nods. “Yeah.”

“Sorry to make you come and then go immediately,” Jaehyun says, hitting the button for the elevator. “But it starts at eleven and you know how these things run.”

“Like weddings,” Taeyong agrees, trying not to be too distracted by how soft Jaehyun’s hair looks, the color of liquid silver. It makes him feel particularly self-conscious about his own appearance, even though he’s quite literally going to school for it, and even Doyoung grudgingly told him he looked quote, “very fuckable. Can I go gouge my eyes out, now?”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun says. They all file into the elevator, which resumes it’s utterly slow crawl down one floor.

“So, uh, Mark,” Taeyong says, trying to break the tension. “Did you go to SOPA too?”

Mark seems to quiver with nervous energy. “Ah, yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I was one year ahead of Donghyuckie. He was born in 2000.” For some reason he winces, but Taeyong’s too busy trying to remember if he ever found out what year _Jaehyun_ was born in to really notice.

“1997, Ahjusshi,” Jaehyun tells him helpfully, like a mind reader.

Taeyong gives in the urge to shove him.

“Ow, hey,” Jaehyun says. “Don’t hit the messenger. You might pull something—”

Taeyong rolls his eyes.

“Anyway.” Mark’s voice sounds considerably higher. “Donghyuckie’s coming to SM University next month. He also wants to do music.”

Taeyong turns his attention back to Mark. “Are you interested in studying music?” he asks, thinking about Taeil-hyung.

Mark’s eyes dart to the side towards Johnny so quickly Taeyong swears he’s made it up. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean probably. I still have time to decide.”

“For like two weeks Mark said he was going to be a business major,” Jaehyun puts in helpfully, in time for the doors to finally groan open.

“Shut up, Jaehyun-hyung,” says Mark. His ears are pink.

Taeyong tilts his head. “Johnny-hyung’s a business major,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with business majors.”

Jaehyun turns his head. “Me too,” he says. “And I agree.”

Taeyong is glad it’s cold because he’s definitely blushing as they make their way out the door.

* * *

As first dates go, Mark’s friend Donghyuck’s graduation isn’t an awful venue. Taeyong and Johnny end up standing in the back with Jaehyun and Mark, who could have gone closer to sit with Donghyuck’s actual family—Donghyuck has three siblings and two parents who look about two seconds from crying well before the ceremony starts—but instead elects to stay with the three of them.

“He’ll make a huge fuss if I cry, and I’m totally going to cry,” says Mark, and then rattles off something else in rapid-fire English that makes Johnny snort and bend closer so they can continue their conversation in a language Taeyong doesn’t know and Jaehyun is rapidly losing.

“Now look what you’ve done,” he tells Taeyong with a grin. “I’m twenty-three, you know. It’s been thirteen years since I lived in Connecticut. There will be no living with him after this.”

Taeyong blinks. “Are you and Mark roommates?”

“No, Mark’s living in the freshman dorms,” Jaehyun says. “His roommate’s really nice, actually. Tall.” He shoots Johnny a look. “Maybe taller than Johnny-hyung. He’s got massive hands.”

Taeyong blinks, because that’s not exactly a description he’s unfamiliar with. “Is his name possibly… Wong Yukhei?” he says, probably butchering the Cantonese. “Uh. Lucas?”

Jaehyun stares at him with his lips parted in time for the president of SOPA to get up and start to speak, signaling the start to graduation proper. “Yes, actually,” he says. “How did you—”

“He’s dating my best friend, Ten,” Taeyong says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. I’m gonna kill him—”

“Ten?” Jaehyun says. “My friend Kun is roommates with a Ten.”

Taeyong stares. “You’re friends with Kun?” he says.

“We take cooking classes together on Wednesdays,” says Jaehyun. “My roommate, Sicheng, is Chinese, so I can speak some Mandarin. We bonded.”

Taeyong stares at him. He’s going to have to have words with Ten, it seems. Jeong Jaehyun has been orbiting just outside Taeyong’s sphere of existence for much longer than last Christmas, _it seems_. He could have been dating Jeong Jaehyun instead of Park Kyungchul _this entire time_ , if instead of going to help Johnny and Taeil-hyung move into their apartment, he went to the party Kun and Ten threw at the start of fall semester.

“Taeyong-hyung?” Jaehyun is looking at Taeyong with concern.

Taeyong rapidly swivels around to squint at the first class of students lining up at the front of the gymnasium with their diplomas clutched in their hands, their photos and names projected onto the screen behind the president of the school. He takes in the usual excess of Kims and Lees. “How many of them do you think are related?” he blurts.

Jaehyun’s brows furrow for a split second. Then he says instantly, “All of them.”

Taeyong gives the line of photos another look, then the rows of high schoolers one as well. “There have to be at least a hundred students,” he says. “One woman couldn’t—”

The president reads out “Shim Minho,” and Taeyong stares.

“What about him—”

“A secret Kim, on the side,” says Jaehyun. “Secreted away for his own safety.”

Taeyong shakes his head. “Sure,” he says.

The next name is “Jung Heejun.”

“My long lost cousin,” says Jaehyun. “I’m a Kim too.”

“Not a Lee?” says Taeyong dryly.

“No, because then we’d be related,” Jaehyun replies immediately, and steps closer so he can lace their hands together.

Taeyong stares down at them with his heart pounding in his ears.

“It would be highly inappropriate for me to kiss you if we were related,” Jaehyun says.

Taeyong swallows, feeling a little bit faint. “It would be highly inappropriate for you to kiss me at Donghyuck’s high school graduation _period_ ,” he somehow says.

Jaehyun raises his other hand and fucking _dabs_.

Taeyong is honestly speechless. “What—”

“Shut up.” Jaehyun’s ears are the color of strawberries. “Shut up.”

“Jaehyun-ah,” says Taeyong. “Jaehyun _-ah_ —” He breaks off when his phone starts buzzing angrily in his pocket, startled. “Who’s calling me?” he starts to say, before he sees that it’s Taeil-hyung. “Taeil-hyung?”

“Taeyongie, is Johnny with you?” Taeil-hyung says before Taeyong can say anything else. “Tell him to answer his phone.”

Taeyong blinks but lowers the phone to address Johnny anyway. He reaches out to poke him in between the shoulder blades, not sure when he and Mark ended up with their heads bowed together in front of Taeyong and Jaehyun, but happy they’re getting along regardless. “Hyung,” he says, so Johnny looks at him. “Taeil-hyung says you need to answer your phone.”

“Thank you,” Taeil-hyung says in Taeyong’s ear. “Anyway, I’m locked out. Again.”

Taeyong sighs. “Taeilie-hyung.” At Johnny’s questioning look, he mimes losing his keys, and Johnny’s mouth rounds in realization.

 _Again_? he mouths.

 _Yeah_ , Taeyong replies.

“I’m sorry,” Taeil-hyung says into the phone. “It’s just so weird having to use a physical key.”

Taeyong gets it, but Taeyong also knows this is the second time this has happened this year.

“Where are you?” Taeil-hyung wants to know. “I’ll come grab Johnny’s.”

Taeyong lowers the phone again. “Taeil-hyung wants to come get your keys,” he says.

Johnny is already shaking his head. “Yeah, no. I’ll let him in.” He pauses, for some reason exchanging an odd look with Mark. “After?”

“We’re at a friend’s graduation,” Taeyong tells Taeil-hyung. “You can come get them after it’s over?” He glances at Jaehyun. “In like an hour?”

Taeil-hyung sighs but agrees before hanging up.

“I’m not giving him my keys,” says Johnny.

“No, I know,” says Taeyong. “But you can tell him that when he gets here.”

Johnny shakes his head but turns his attention back to Mark.

Taeyong at least feels good about the fact that they’re getting along. He looks at Jaehyun and nudges him in the arm. “Hey,” he says. “We did good.” He only feels slightly bad about the fact that Johnny isn’t single. It’ll be fine. Like, he and Mark can still be friends. Shit. Taeyong should explain. “Listen, Jaehyun, Johnny—”

“Mark isn’t single,” interjects Jaehyun quietly, looking pointedly straight ahead at the next class of students. “I mean he should still get laid.”

Taeyong snorts despite himself.

“But I just wanted an excuse to see you,” Jaehyun finishes. He even has the audacity to smile. His arms twitch like he wants to dab again, and Taeyong cannot believe how much he likes him.

“You too,” he manages.

They spend the rest of Donghyuck’s graduation making up increasingly awful stories about the children graduating, while Johnny and Mark make fast friends in front of them. After it’s done Johnny texts Taeil-hyung’s it’s okay for him to come into the building—he’s not going to turn into a pumpkin because he has to be around children born in the year 2000—and Taeil-hyung grudgingly agrees to meet them inside so he can fight Johnny for his keys.

At some point the man of the hour, Lee Donghyuck himself, arrives near simultaneously with Taeil-hyung, who smiles at Taeyong and bows to Mark and Jaehyun before turning to face Johnny with large, beseeching eyes.

Donghyuck pulls free of his tearful family and his oversized bouquet of flowers to come stand next to Mark, who blinks happily back at him, clearly having been crying not too long ago. “Gross, Mark-hyung,” Donghyuck says. “Hi. You’re Taeyong-hyung?”

“Hi.” Taeyong bows. “That’s Johnny-hyung and Taeil-hyung.” He nods and the two of them break away from their argument to smile and dip their heads as well.

Donghyuck stares at two of them for an incredibly long time, before slowly turning to face Mark. “Johnny… hyung,” he says slowly, his eyes sliding back to stare at Taeil-hyung. “Well… shit.”

Mark laughs like a crazy person and slaps Donghyuck hard on the arm, then the back, and Taeyong decides he’d much rather talk with Jaehyun, as opposed to trying to decode the secrets of today’s youth.

“Sorry,” Jaehyun says again. “We’ll have to get really fancy dinner on Thursday—”

“I’m fine with just whatever,” Taeyong says mildly. “And don’t apologize. I’m glad I got to see you too.”

“Ugh.” Donghyuck is shooting the two of them an appalled look. “Jaehyun-hyung,” he says. “Is Taeyong-hyung your date?”

Jaehyun’s ears are blushing again but somehow, he manages to remain composed. He lifts his head. “What of it?”

“Did you bring a _date_ to my high school graduation?” Donghyuck continues. “Hyung. That’s so embarrassing.”

Taeyong steps closer and links hands with Jaehyun. “I had fun,” he says.

Donghyuck is still staring at the two of them like they’re the worst thing he’s ever seen. “Taeil-hyung,” he says, with an odd stutter to his words. “Back me up. They’re embarrassing.”

Taeil-hyung finishes losing the argument with Johnny and turns to glance at Taeyong. “Oh I know,” he says. “Taeyongie is my most embarrassing friend.”

“Excuse you, Kim Doyoung exists,” interjects Taeyong, affronted. “Don’t pretend you’re not planning to wallpaper our entire apartment with that photo he took for the yearbook, next month.”

Taeil-hyung is the picture of innocence. “What photo?” he says.

Behind him, Johnny drops dutifully into Doyoung’s ridiculous pose, both arms bent at an angle.

Taeyong snorts.

“You’re embarrassing,” Taeil-hyung says. “Johnny.”

Johnny straightens out of Doyoung’s pose with a long drawn out breath. “You’re good if I go?”

Taeyong should leave with him, but he doesn’t want to. He opens his mouth to say so, but then finds himself staring instead at Jaehyun, standing there looking beautiful in his coat.

“You can come out to lunch with us,” offers Jaehyun, before Taeyong’s lack of an answer can become too apparent.

Donghyuck looks like he wants to protest but Mark very helpfully slaps him in the arm. “I’ll go tell Mom I’m going out with friends,” Donghyuck says. “She’ll probably cry, but all of you go to SM U too, right?” He looks around at them all, his eyes catching twice on Taeil-hyung, before returning to Taeyong, for some reason.

Taeyong nods.

“She has to let me, then,” Donghyuck says. “Registration for classes is at the end of the month. I’ll say you’re all going to give me lots of advice.”

Taeil-hyung glances between him and Taeyong, then seems to take pity. “What do you want to study?”

“Music like Mark-hyung,” Donghyuck says immediately, with the surety of someone who’s had to answer the question many times before. “What’s your major?”

If Taeil-hyung is startled by the near informality of that question, he doesn’t show it. “Music, actually,” he says. “Voice.”

Donghyuck’s voice cracks a little when he replies. “Oh, cool. SM U has one of the harder programs to get into, I hear.” He turns to go talk to his mother, shoulders a little raised.

Taeil-hyung looks after him, head tilted.

Johnny clears his throat. “Hyung, your keys?”

Taeil-hyung jumps. “Right, yes.” He darts closer to give Taeyong a quick hug. “Bye, Taeyongie. Ten was right—he’s way out of your league and Cockroach totally has a type.”

Taeyong gapes. “What do you mean out of my league and what do you mean”—he breaks off, lowering his voice—“Kyungchul has a type?”

Taeil-hyung glances between Taeyong and Jaehyun, hums, and then takes Johnny by the hand and practically hauls him towards the doors to the gymnasium.

Donghyuck comes back with permission from his parents and his bouquet of flowers, glancing between the lot of them curiously. “What are we talking about?” he asks. “Mom said I can go, but if it runs late I have to stay over with you and Lucas afterwards—she doesn’t want me walking home alone after dark.” He rolls his eyes to show how he feels about that, but Taeyong thinks that’s fair. Donghyuck is only nineteen, after all.

“Jaehyun and mine’s ex,” Taeyong finds himself telling Donghyuck, since the kid just seems to have that effect on him. “It’s how we met, before the zoo.”

Donghyuck stares. “The zoo?”

“They did this thing where you could pay to name a cockroach after your ex,” Mark explains. “Yuta-hyung saw an ad and made Jaehyun-hyung go. Taeyong-hyung was there.” He looks apologetic. “Oh—”

“It’s fine, Mark.” Taeyong smiles. “Anyway, we have the same ex.”

Donghyuck glances between them. “Jaehyun-hyung has an ex?” he starts to say. “Since when does Jaehyun-hyung—” He breaks off, eyes widening, before changing the subject so quickly Taeyong gets whiplash. “So, lunch,” he says. “Lunch. Food. Are you paying?” He’s addressing Taeyong.

“Donghyuckie you’ve just met him,” protests Mark.

“But he’s the oldest,” Donghyuck says.

“I don’t mind,” Taeyong says, only not bothered because there’s something so endearing about Donghyuck that transcends whatever accidental rudeness he puts off; Taeyong gets the feeling that if he actually made a fuss, Donghyuck would be as polite as needed. He’s just kind of sweet, in his mustard yellow SOPA uniform and giant coat. He’s still clutching the bouquet. “I am the oldest.”

“Yeah, but—” start to say Mark.

“Taeyongie, you don’t have to pay,” Jaehyun says at the same time.

Taeyong smiles at the both. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, then looks happily down at Donghyuck. “You only graduate high school once.”

“You can keep him, Jaehyun-hyung,” Donghyuck says, and Taeyong laughs.

Afterwards it’s not that late, but they drop Mark and Donghyuck off at the dorms anyway, then walk together as far as they can before they have to separate, holding hands. It feels cliché and stupid and out of a movie, and Taeyong never wants it to end. “Hey, uh, I’m glad you invited me,” he says.

“It was really good. I’m sorry you had to pay for Donghyuckie and Mark, though,” Jaehyun says, not letting go of Taeyong’s hand. It’s like he doesn’t want it to end either.

“Jaehyunnie it’s fine,” Taeyong says. “I’m glad you liked the food.”

“Jaehyunnie?” Jaehyun’s smiling—has one thumb drawing circles on the back of Taeyong’s gloved hand.

“Jaehyun,” Taeyong corrects.

“I don’t mind,” Jaehyun says.

Taeyong has the urge to squeeze both of his perfectly dimpled cheeks. “Fuck, Jaehyun, what are you doing to me?”

Jaehyun finally lets go of his hand, but keeps grinning down at Taeyong. “It’s because I was born on Valentine’s Day,” he says. “It’s just my effect.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Taeyong says. “I’m embarrassed.”

Jaehyun very suddenly looks serious. “Don’t be,” he says quietly. “I like it. I like you.”

Taeyong somehow manages not to squeal from joy. “Me too,” he manages. “I like you too.”

Jaehyun very carefully laces his hands together behind his back. “I’ll see you Thursday?” he says.

“You pick the place,” Taeyong agrees. “Goodnight, Jaehyun-ah.”

“Goodnight, Taeyong-hyung.”

When Taeyong comes back into the apartment practically humming love songs and fighting the urge to sit down and write song lyrics, he finds Doyoung sitting on their couch with his laptop in front of him and a law book on the table beside him, glasses on and one eyebrow raised. “How did it go? Did you put out on the first date?” he says.

“None of your business,” says Taeyong, with his nose in the air, and then goes immediately into his room to scream into his pillow.

“Taeyong-hyung _I can hear you_!” shouts Doyoung.

Taeyong throws the pillow at his door in response.

* * *

Dinner with Jaehyun goes pretty abysmally, which is shocking, given how well lunch went with a third and fourth wheel. They pick a nice Korean place in a decent part of town and they get a table by a window with a rose in the middle, but Taeyong just feels awkward and uncomfortable and like every conversation is a dead end. Part of him is almost relieved, since he and Jaehyun have only been officially dating (or whatever—does it count as dating when they’ve only had one date and that date was going to a friend’s high school graduation?) for one whole week. It couldn’t be wedding bells and hearts the whole time. Taeyong would be concerned if it was.

Taeyong is worried he and Jaehyun might be better off as just _friends_.

He thought Jaehyun’s job at the antique shop was cute when he learned about it that weekend, but now it’s literally so boring Taeyong’s brain feels.

“This isn’t working out, is it,” says Jaehyun, interrupting whatever train of thought he’d been on prior—the proper way to clean a grand piano, or something.

Taeyong is so relieved he could cry. “No,” he manages. “Sorry.” He takes a bite of his food. “The food is amazing, though.”

Jaehyun sets down his own chopsticks and picks up his napkin to wipe his mouth, then sets that down as well. “Hyung,” he says. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

Taeyong leaps to protest. “No, it really is good, honest, one of the better versions I’ve had—”

“We should go somewhere else,” Jaehyun says, thankfully before Taeyong can really pick up panicked steam.

Taeyong practically deflates with relief, and the little smile Jaehyun gives him when he notices is enough to lift his spirits. “Yeah, okay,” he says, fumbling around blindly for things they can do in the area. “There’s the, uh, new haunted house that just opened. The first year-round one in Seoul, and everything.”

Jaehyun pauses. “Do you like haunted houses?” he says finally.

For some reason Taeyong feels like that’s a trick question. “Yeah, Doyoung and I went through one when we were on vacation in Osaka last year.”

Jaehyun licks his lips and moves to grab their check and his jacket. “Cool,” he says. “Haunted house it is, then.”

“Cool,” Taeyong parrots. It’s a plan.

* * *

`We’re going to the haunted house that just opened downtown`, Taeyong tells Doyoung, as Jaehyun pays. (He’d insisted. Taeyong agreed to let him if Jaehyun let Taeyong pay for the haunted house. They shook on it. It was a lot.) `Should be fun.`

`Uh, Hyung? Are you sure that’s a good idea?`

`Yeah, why?`

Doyoung is silent for a long moment.

`No reason.`

More silence.

`Text me after.`

Taeyong squints down at his phone. `Okay`, he says. `Your confidence in me is overflowing.`

`Look, Taeyong-hyung, I know you. More than that: I have gone into a haunted house with you.`

`It’ll be fine`, Taeyong says. `If I’m afraid, Jaehyun can just hold me.`

`Lee Taeyong`, Doyoung says.

`What?` Taeyong says. `Look, he’s done paying, I’ve got to go.`

`Home by eleven, young lady!` says Doyoung, the asshole.

Taeyong rolls his eyes.

“You ready?” Jaehyun says, pocketing his wallet and shaking his bangs out of his eyes.

“Yep,” Taeyong says. He takes Jaehyun’s hand.

* * *

The first scare is a woman done up to look dead with blood leaking out of her eyes, not even doing more than jumping out at them and wailing a little, and Taeyong takes off at full speed without even thinking about it, the scream that leaves his mouth totally embarrassing and likely to cause ear damage. He ends up well in front of poor Jaehyun, who Taeyong thinks was moving to put an arm around Taeyong when she jumped out at them.

“Uh, Hyung?” Jaehyun calls into the eerie silence and the dark. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine!” Taeyong shouts back, not sure how to lower the volume of his voice at this point. “I’m—oh God—” Standing still is somehow worse, so Taeyong starts moving. “I’m totally fine—fuck—”

“You sound like you’re moving.” Jaehyun’s voice is—horribly—getting farther away, but Taeyong can’t bring himself to stop. Stopping is bad. Stopping is asking to be jump-scared. “Look, Hyung, we can turn around—”

“No, I can do this!” Taeyong shouts back. “I can totally do this—oh fuck—” He rounds a corner and there’s a guy leaned up against what looks suspiciously like a pile of limbs and other assorted body parts and Taeyong rues the fact that this eyes are starting to get used to the dark. “I can do this—” And then the man moves and Taeyong is shrieking again, drowning out whatever it is Jaehyun was saying. He darts forward a few more steps, the sound of his heavy breathing roaring in his ears.

“Taeyong-hyung—oh, hi,” he hears Jaehyun say. “Is that an arm? It looks fake.” He sounds so unaffected by everything that Taeyong wants to hate him, but knows he has only himself to blame. “Taeyong-hyung. I’ll hold your hand. You just have to let me catch—”

Taeyong nearly runs into a pair of people fighting with scythes and shrieks semi-hysterically.

“—you,” Jaehyun finishes. “Taeyongie-hyung—”

“I can’t stop!” Taeyong wails back at him, both hands curled defensively in front of his chest now, and somehow he’s managing to continue moving despite the severe amount of fear flowing through his veins. “I can’t stop moving I—” There’s a really creepy well with a lady’s head sticking out of it and as he passes by she reaches for him, holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck. “I can’t stop moving, Jaehyun-ah!” Taeyong shouts. “I’m sorry!”

“Taeyong-hyung!” Jaehyun calls back. “I’ll protect you, promise—”

“That’s really nice, Jaehyunnie!” wails Taeyong, only looking ahead through one nearly shut eye. “You’re really nice, Jaehyunnie! Lovely. So lovely. I’m so happy we agreed to go on this da—ate!” The end of his sentences comes out more than a little mangled, and Jaehyun’s response to his heartfelt confession is lost.

Taeyong goes through every single jump-scare literal seconds before Jaehyun, who from the sounds of things, wouldn’t have been bothered even if he’d gone first to begin with. By the time they hit the exit and Taeyong is able to stand gasping in the foyer with one arm braced against the wall, he feels like he’s aged at least five years and also ran a marathon.

Jaehyun comes to a stop behind him, also sounding out of breath, but probably only because he’d been running to try to catch Taeyong. “Hyung,” he says.

Taeyong manages to stop propping himself against the wall so he can turn to face him, taking in his sweaty, perfect face, and the hint of a smile that he can’t seem to hide. “Don’t laugh at me,” he says between pants. “You asshole. You agreed to do this with me.”

“You said you liked haunted houses.”

Taeyong has to admit the adrenaline high he’s currently riding is a special kind of thrill, but the state of his vocal chords and also the hit to his pride is pretty damning. “This is our first date,” he rasps.

“Second date.”

“I was lying. People lie on second dates all the time.”

“I said I would protect you, though,” Jaehyun says. “I was even going to hold your hand the entire time. All you had to do was stay still.”

Taeyong glowers at him. “I’d like to see you stand still in the middle of that horror show,” he says. “You’re lucky I even tried to wait.”

Jaehyun raises a brow. “You tried to wait for me?”

“Oh, shut up,” Taeyong says, but finally lets Jaehyun come close enough so that he can make good on the hand-holding promise. He has to admit, it would have been pretty comforting in the haunted house. Jaehyun smells good and it’s very distracting. He’s warm, practically radiating heat. He’s tall, solid, firm. Taeyong takes a deep inhale and smiles when Jaehyun’s hands drop to his hips. “We are _not_ doing that again.”

Jaehyun’s lips twitch into a smirk, even as he comes even closer, moves until Taeyong’s almost pressed against the wall, and has to crane his head to look up at him, to keep his gaze. “No?” he says. “Too bad. I was kind of looking forward to actually getting to hold your hand.”

Taeyong glares at him. “Do you need a moment?” he says. “I can move backward if you need to dab—”

Jaehyun’s cheeks blush. “Hyung,” he whines.

“I actually think it’s cute,” Taeyong can’t help but mutter. “I mean, uh—”

Jaehyun bites down on his bottom lip. “Is it okay if I kiss you now?”

Taeyong’s heart pounds. “I’m kind of gross from all the fight or flight,” he says.

“Hot,” Jaehyun says, head tilting.

Taeyong’s head thuds back against the helpfully placed wall in an automatic, panicked response that’s not really panic so much as it is nerves. “You might want to get that checked out. You sound like an adrenaline junkie.”

“You like it,” Jaehyun says.

“I do,” Taeyong agrees.

And then they’re kissing and it’s everything. Taeyong’s hands end up clutching the back of Jaehyun’s head and his shoulders and _Jaehyun’s_ hands are still holding tightly to Taeyong’s hips. There’s tongue and teeth and Jaehyun’s cupid’s bow lips, pressed up against Taeyong’s. Jaehyun’s baby fine silver hair, threaded between Taeyong’s fingertips. Jaehyun’s sleek, too-pale-to-be-real skin, slippery under Taeyong’s palm as he gets a hand under the shoulder seam of his shirt and holds. Jaehyun’s thigh between Taeyong’s. Jaehyun’s cock up against Taeyong’s. _Jaehyun_ period—

A throat clears.

Taeyong and Jaehyun freeze, pulling apart just so that they can breathe, but not moving away from each other any more than that.

“Not that this isn’t, uh, sweet,” the employee who’s clearly just walked in on them is saying—the man who signed them in at the front desk with the name tag that said Park Jungsoo, Taeyong thinks— “But, um, we have more customers waiting?” He makes it sound like a question, and Taeyong feels horribly, horribly guilty.

“Jaehyun-ah,” he says through gritted teeth.

Jaehyun leaps back as if burned. “Right, yes,” he says. “Uh.” He bows to Park Jungsoo. “Sorry.”

Park Jungsoo levels them a bright, not-forced looking smile, which Taeyong wagers will change after the place has been open for longer than a day, and more idiots start coming on dates and taking advantage of all the adrenaline. “It’s no problem,” he says. “Thank you for coming.”

The accidental entendre isn’t missed on either Taeyong or Jaehyun; Jaehyun clears his throat and manages somehow to fumble out another, “thank you,” but Taeyong has to stare straight ahead so as to not laugh.

They hold hands on the walk back to the train, share Airpods on the ride back to their apartments, and on Taeyong’s building stoop, standing under the streetlight like every cliché American film, Jaehyun kisses Taeyong again, sweeter and less dirty this time.

“Um, Jaehyunnie, is it okay if we go slow?” Taeyong says, when they’ve pulled apart and Jaehyun’s looking at him like he’s something precious, a puzzle he can’t wait to work out. It makes Taeyong’s palms itch for his own mystery, his toes twitch in his shoes. “I just mean because of the whole… Kyungchul thing,” he says, hating to let that asshole have even part of this, but knowing that he always will, since he’s the reason they know each other.

Jaehyun doesn’t even miss a beat. “Of course,” he says.

Taeyong grins.

* * *

Slow is out the window the week spring semester starts, when Jaehyun takes Taeyong on a date to the cooking class he takes with Kun, Ten’s roommate. They’re making omurice, which Taeyong’s never done before, but seen plenty of in dramas. Taeyong’s not technically a student, but Jaehyun’s utterly charmed their instructor—a lovely woman named Cha Sungmi who looks at Jaehyun like he’s her long lost child—so Taeyong is allowed in regardless, after demonstrating he has more than a basic appreciation for proper hygiene and food safety. And Taeyong’s been cooking pretty much his whole life, so. He’s more than decent with a knife.

“You can be my assistant chef,” Jaehyun tells him when they’re dismissed back to their station—in the back, with a great view out the window. His hair is off his forehead this afternoon, falling gracefully over his eyebrows and making him look particularly delectable.

Taeyong’s own hair is still not quite long enough for him to feel comfortable dying it any fantasy color, and seeing Jaehyun’s, as always, makes him long for his teenage idiocy, when he came home with cotton candy pink hair the day he got his letter from SM U. “Assistant chef?” he says, watching Jaehyun lay out his utensils along their workstation.

“Partner chef?”

Taeyong shivers. “Yeah, Chef-nim,” he says, and watches Jaehyun’s throat bob. It’s March 6, so he and Jaehyun are fast coming up on their one-month anniversary, if they’re counting from Valentine’s Day (as Jaehyun does). Taeyong thinks they really should be counting from Donghyuck’s graduation on the nineteenth, though, so that gives them five more days. It’s still heady, to have a relationship, to have someone, to be well on his way to unraveling the little things that make someone else tick. To wake up to cute messages and to know someone else’s coffee order. To spend a lot of his free time loitering in Jaehyun’s antique shop, learning to communicate with Hong-ahjushi through gestures alone. To know that calling Jaehyun “chef-nim”—following his orders blindly—is something that will make Jaehyun’s ears blush; that flipping the situation is something that’ll make Jaehyun’s throat catch, his hands shake, his concentration waver. “Bad idea,” Taeyong says, eyeing the impressive array of knives. “Are those yours?” They’re initialized, stamped with Jaehyun’s name.

“My dad,” Jaehyun says, a little embarrassed. He’s always embarrassed when mentioning his dad. Taeyong understands. He hates talking about his sister. He moves to change the subject, then pauses, gaze catching on two men entering the classroom.

“Hang on,” he says, as they cross the room to a station just in front of Jaehyun and Taeyong’s. “Is that—”

“Changmin-ssi,” Cha-seonsaengnim says. Then, with significantly less warmth, “You.”

Taeyong blinks, staring between the three of them in confusion. “What—”

“Cha-seonsaengnim is married to Kyuhyun-hyung,” Jaehyun says.

Taeyong doesn’t even know where to begin with that. “Cha-seonsaengnim,” he says. “Ky-kyuhyun-hyung.”

Jaehyun looks at him with bright eyes. “He said it would be weird if I called him professor. Also I’m not in any of his classes. I mean, I’ve taken some Japanese literature stuff with Changmin-hyung, and Sicheng’s got him as his advisor, but.” He shrugs.

Taeyong closes his mouth and nods. “Cool,” he says. “Changmin-hyung. Kyuhyun-hyung.” He tragically catches both their eyes and manages to give them both something approximating a smile. He even gives them a thumbs up.

Jaehyun notices and takes hold of the offending hand. “Yah, Hyung, what are you doing?” He sounds embarrassed, but it’s still a good sort of embarrassment, and Taeyong really hates that he said they’d have to take things slow. There’s only so much making out and fantasy a person can take, and Taeyong is rapidly reaching his limits.

Cho-seonsaengnim and Shim-seonsaengnim have stopped looking at Taeyong like he’s a particularly interesting specimen, though, so Taeyong is thankful for Jaehyun’s intervention. “Thanks.” The two of them end up standing in front of their work station holding hands. “Uh, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Are you sure you even were?” says Jaehyun with a smirk.

“You’re so mean, Jaehyun-ah. Why are you so mean?”

“Only so you’ll be mean back.”

Taeyong feels faint.

“Oh, Yuno-yah!” a voice says, ruining the moment soundly. “Is this him?”

Jaehyun finally releases Taeyong’s hand but he’s blushing all the way down his neck, disappearing into the back of his sweater. “Emo-nim,” he mumbles.

“Yuno?” Taeyong says.

“It’s what my name is on the class register—ah, Emo-nim—” says Jaehyun, in time to get set upon by a particularly excited older woman, who introduces herself enthusiastically to Taeyong, and tells him all about the good boy he’s got himself, all while shaking Taeyong’s hand like it’s an Olympic sport. There is quite a lot of cheek pinching. Jaehyun, it seems, nearly lost a finger because he was daydreaming last week, which was when Taeyong’s existence was confirmed. The woman—Kang Chaeyoung—is utterly thrilled to be meeting him, and even after Cha-seonsaengnim asks everyone to the front of the room for instruction, Taeyong catches her smiling wistfully at them.

“Wow,” he says, right up against Jaehyun’s ear as the younger makes note of the ingredient preparation that Cha-seonsaengnim is walking them through. “I’m starting to think that this cool, handsome guy exterior is an act and you’re really just a marshmallow collecting lovely old people.”

Jaehyun holds very still but doesn’t respond, and Taeyong catches him biting his lip. He feels bold. Like he’s living life on the wild side.

Then he feels seen, like a wild animal caught in a trap, because Jaehyun can crack eggs with one hand, Jaehyun chops onions with practiced precision, gives orders without even looking up from what he’s doing, whisks eggs with his sleeves rolled up, pale wrists shockingly bare, because cooking class is no place for jewelry.

By the time Taeyong has been tasked with decorating their finished product with ketchup, his hands keep shaking and he’s jittery behind the safety of the metal table, their little sanctuary in the back of the room.

“Hyung are you nervous, or something? You’re a great cook—” says Jaehyun, taking the advantage of the fact that they’re essentially done to hook a pinky into one of the straps of Taeyong’s apron. He’s standing behind him with his chin resting on Taeyong’s shoulder, and the heart Taeyong had been trying to draw goes wobbly.

“Jaehyun-ah,” he says through his teeth, finishing with his design and deeming it restaurant worthy. “Your apartment better be empty when we get home after this, or your roommates are getting a show.”

Jaehyun stills. “I thought you said you wanted to take things slow.”

“That was before I knew you can crack eggs with one hand,” says Taeyong. “How fast can you get us home?”

* * *

“Sicheng’s got lab, but Jungwoo-hyung’s not taking classes this semester because he’s enlisting,” says Jaehyun, on the train.

Taeyong hums, hand wrapped tightly around the pole he’s standing next to with Jaehyun, who’s squinting down at his phone.

“I don’t think he’s very sympathetic,” Jaehyun continues. “I, uh, haven’t always been the most considerate roommate.”

Taeyong stares. Unbidden, he feels his hand start to slide up and down on the pole. Jaehyun doesn’t appear to notice.

“I keep odd hours,” he says, pink down the back of his neck again. 

Taeyong nods. “Uh huh.”

“I’ll text Mark,” Jaehyun says, still focused on his phone. “Jungwoo-hyung loves Mark.” He seems to pause. “Actually, so does Yuta-hyung. Everyone loves Mark.”

“Mark is very loveable,” Taeyong agrees. It’s a tragedy that Jaehyun isn’t watching him, honestly.

“Yeah.” Jaehyun glances at him, his eyes go very wide, and then he tips the phone towards Taeyong so he can see.

`I need you to take Jungwoo-hyung out for the rest of today`, Jaehyun’s written. `Seriously. You owe me. `For some reason, Jaehyun has finished his message by sending the candy emoji followed by the baby emoji.

“Candy baby?” says Taeyong. He’s stopped accosting the train car but now he’s close enough to Jaehyun that he can smell him, and it’s messing with his concentration, making it hard for him to remember what stop is theirs.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” says Jaehyun, as the train halts. “This is us.”

Taeyong doesn’t think about it all that hard. He thinks about it just the right amount, as they’re exiting the train, taping out of the station, unlocking Jaehyun’s apartment. Jungwoo is not in the apartment when they get there, though, so whatever it was—whatever it meant—it worked.

Taeyong and Jaehyun take off their shoes.

Taeyong and Jaehyun stand very awkwardly in the entrance to Jaehyun’s apartment.

“Uh—”

Before Taeyong can finish his sentence, Jaehyun is walking him back towards a very nicely placed wall and looming over him so that Taeyong has to tip his head back so he can meet Jaehyun eyes, so he can stare very deeply into Jaehyun’s eyes, so can hold his breath when he sees Jaehyun staring back at him. “Jaehyun-ah.”

“Taeyongie-hyung—”

“Hi—”

“Hi—”

When Taeyong kisses him, it’s just as good as it was last week, yesterday, that afternoon when Jaehyun picked him up for cooking class not more than two hours earlier. It’s hot and sweet and it makes Taeyong’s eyes close, Taeyong’s mouth tingle, Taeyong’s toes curl in his socks. It’s paradise.

“Taeyongie-hyung,” Jaehyun says. “Yours or mine?”

Taeyong pauses. “I don’t live here,” he says eventually. “Jaehyunnie—”

“You’re right, mine then,” says Jaehyun, and fucking _lifts_ _Taeyong_ with both arms.

“You—I—what—oh—” says Taeyong, more than a little turned on, more than a little confused, more than a little _turned around_ , as Jaehyun carries him easily enough through the apartment, past the couch and Sicheng’s stack of obscure literature and Jungwoo’s DVD collection. The top movie on the pile is _The Notebook_ , followed by the entire _Before_ trilogy. Taeyong has barely a second to blink—he loves _The Notebook_ —before they’re into Jaehyun’s room.

Jaehyun sets Taeyong down in the doorway, leans a hand on one knee, and stands there breathing hard for five seconds. Taeyong should hit him.

“You are an asshole,” he says.

Jaehyun lifts his head, smirks, then has the audacity to run his fingers through his hair.

“And unfairly attractive,” Taeyong mumbles.

Jaehyun stands to his full height. “What’s that, Hyung?”

“Nothing. I said nothing,” says Taeyong, moving to sit on the bed.

Jaehyun follows him, planting both knees and crawling towards Taeyong with a sinful look on his face. “Gorgeous?” he says. “Stunning?”

Taeyong scoots up the bed towards the pillow. “Arrogant?” he says. “Narcissistic?” He hits the pillow and lays down.

“Studious,” Jaehyun corrects. “Quoting you.” He settles in between Taeyong’s legs with both arms on either side of Taeyong’s head.

“Pretty,” Taeyong says, biting at his lip. “A tease—”

Jaehyun ducks down and kisses him again, with teeth now, fingers tracing the back of Taeyong’s neck and abdomen warm and solid and something for Taeyong’s hips to fuck up into. “Your tease—”

“Sentimental,” Taeyong somehow gets out, even though he’s starting to go dizzy from the kissing.

“You love it,” Jaehyun says.

 _I love you_ , Taeyong thinks, and then has to kiss him some more because it’s too soon (too fast; too typical; too standard Lee Taeyong; leap before you look). He sinks back against the pillows and hooks a foot behind Jaehyun’s ass. Somewhere in the middle they both lose their shirts, then their pants, their boxers, their socks. Jaehyun’s even paler without clothes on, all corded, ivory muscle and heady, musky masculinity whenever Taeyong gets too close, too bite-y. He licks a line along the slope of his jaw, sucks a love bite into the column of his pristine neck. Jaehyun keeps touching him, first on the neck, then on the shoulders—

“Taeyongie you’re so _broad_ , so fucking pretty, so fucking _mine_ —” and Taeyong shivers and shudders and works their hips together hard enough to make his vision white out.

—and then on the hips, the thighs, carefully and perfectly around Taeyong’s cock, not at all slick and just a hint painful enough that Taeyong _whines_ through it, torn between bucking in for more and flinching far away.

He tries to return the favor but he keeps getting distracted, keeps rambling about how they need lube, and condoms, and anything else. “To get tested,” he finishes with. “As soon as possible. I want to feel you. Taste you—”

Jaehyun groans, works his thumb around the slit of Taeyong’s cock like an asshole. “Taeyongie you’re so smart, so clever, so forward thinking.”

“I really want to blow you,” Taeyong interjects, kind of to save Jaehyun face, kind of to keep from coming on the spot. “Jaehyunnie please. Condoms.”

“Bedside table,” Jaehyun manages, and tragically pulls away from Taeyong so he can retrieve them. “Here,” he says, returning with condoms and lube. “But not for me,” he adds when Taeyong goes to rip the wrapper open.

“What?”

“Not for me,” says Jaehyun again, and then shimmies down Taeyong’s body like some sort of professional dancer.

Taeyong’s throat goes dry.“Jaehyun-ah?” he manages.

“Lube,” Jaehyun says, holding out one hand. The other settles around the bones of Taeyong’s hips, nails making little crescent moons where they briefly dig in. Taeyong’s breath hiccups out of his lungs. Somehow he manages to uncap the lube and squeeze what is deemed a decent amount out onto Jaehyun’s fingers. “Condom,” Jaehyun continues, grabbing onto Taeyong’s other hip with his slippery, slick hand. Taeyong’s not sure how he gets the condom rolled onto his dick, but he does. “One more,” Jaehyun says when Taeyong’s done.

“What—”

“One more,” Jaehyun says, until Taeyong gives him one somehow, cross eyed and confused and unable to help but stroke himself, now that he’s rolled on the condom, now that Jaehyun’s bent over his hips with his lips literal inches away.

“Jaehyun,” Taeyong starts to say.

“I like it when people pull my hair,” Jaehyun says. “Feel free to make me feel it.”

And.

Well.

Jaehyun wasn’t kidding about the hair thing, wasn’t kidding about the making him feel it, closes his eyes and swallows Taeyong down so far that it has to _hurt_ , and he looks like he’s starving for it.

Taeyong stares down at him and nearly bites off his own tongue, puts his hands in Jaehyun’s hair because otherwise he feels like he’s going to fly out of the entire room, out of the apartment, leave the Korean peninsula itself. “Jaehyunnie,” he manages, breathless and already fighting to not only be moaning. “Jaehyunnie—you—please—”

Jaehyun runs his tongue along a vein then—grudgingly—wraps a hand around the base of Taeyong’s dick. He pulls off, mouth swollen and pretty pink. “I’m serious,” he says, grip twisting just enough that Taeyong’s finding it hard to focus, let alone figure out what he’s saying. “I want you to make me feel it.”

“Don’t you have—” Taeyong feels like a rubber band stretched too thin. “Don’t you have work—”

“Hong-ahjusshi and I don’t communicate with words anyway,” Jaehyun says. “It’s fine if you ruin my voice.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Taeyong manages. “Fuck—”

“I’m not above fighting dirty,” Jaehyun adds, and then releases Taeyong’s cock so fast he gets whiplash.

Taeyong whines, tosses his head against the pillow and fights to keep his eyes open. “What—Jaehyunnie—”

There is a finger tracing the line between his balls and his ass, a finger tracing the skin around his hole, suddenly way more lube. That’s what the second condom was for. That’s—that’s what the second condom was for.

“Oh shit,” Taeyong says, catching on. “Oh shit—Jaehyun-ah—”

“Use. Me,” Jaehyun enunciates, and then swallows Taeyong all the way back down.

Taeyong yelps, slams both palms down hard on the back of Jaehyun’s head, and doesn’t get a chance to feel at all bad about the frantic flex of his jaw around the head of his dick when Jaehyun very abruptly lacks very vital oxygen, because Jaehyun is working the tip of one finger into Taeyong, crooked pointedly towards his prostate. Taeyong shakes. He tightens his hold on Jaehyun’s hair to show he’s not forgotten but pulls him up so that he can better breathe. “I’m not—oh God—” Jaehyun’s put in that first finger, managed to hit Taeyong’s prostate on that first go and it’s distracting, so good Taeyong’s having trouble thinking straight. “I just like it better when you’re not choking—”

“Maybe I want to choke,” Jaehyun says, but he spends the next few minutes teasing gentle licks around the head of Taeyong’s dick, even as he adds a second finger and puts relentless pressure on Taeyong’s prostate until he’s ninety-nine percent certain he’s just going to already come.

“You’re so dirty, Jeong Jaehyun,” gasps Taeyong, sweaty and flushing and with hair in his eyes. “So—fuck—dirty—”

“You love it,” Jaehyun says again.

“I love you,” Taeyong tries to say, but thankfully, gets cut off on another yelp when Jaehyun grabs him by the hips and hauls so that they’re back to being face to face, cock to cock.

“Condom,” Jaehyun says somewhat redundantly, rolling the second one onto his own dick. He bites his lip when he touches himself and his mouth is red and puffy from when Taeyong’s cock was in it.

“Are you going to fuck me this time?” says Taeyong. “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me this time. I need you to fuck me this time. I want you to fuck me this time.”

Jaehyun leans in and kisses him so quickly Taeyong almost thinks he’s imagined it, then drops his head down on Taeyong’s shoulder. He stays there for a second, two seconds, three seconds.

“Jaehyunnie, you have done this before—”

“Yes, Taeyongie I’m not a virgin, _fuck_ ,” swears Jaehyun, but he looks up with more than a little panic in his eyes.

Taeyong reaches out and puts both hands on his cheeks, pets the heated skin there and holds. “Jaehyunnie—”

“I really like you, Taeyongie-hyung,” Jaehyun says. “I—” He stops talking, looking like if he keeps going, he may cry.

“I really like you too, Jaehyunnie,” Taeyong says kindly. He kisses him. “So much—”

Jaehyun kisses him back.

“Now I feel like—” Taeyong risks a glance, feels his own throat go dry. “I need four fingers—”

“Yes,” Jaehyun says mindlessly. “Yes—please—” He needs permission, wants permission—

“Give me four fingers, Jaehyun-ah,” Taeyong says. “Give me four fingers and then _fuck me_ , fucking _make love to me_ —”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaehyun swears, but does just that.

It’s hot and unrelenting and Taeyong raking nails up and down the slope of Jaehyun’s shoulder blades, the back of his neck, the divot of his back. Taeyong wrapping both legs around Jaehyun’s ass and kissing him, biting at him, whining miserably into the space between them when Jaehyun won’t touch him, won’t let him come. “I—”

“Not yet,” Jaehyun says, breathless and broken. “Not yet—oh shit, _Taeyong_ —” He’s not using honorifics or jondaemal and Taeyong is so into that, so into him.

“When?” he wails, as Jaehyun seems to pick up speed rocking their hips together so that there’s nothing but the sound of his poor bed hitting the wall, the slap of skin on skin. “When—now?” He sounds unrecognizable to himself but can’t stop. “Now? Jaehyunnie please—”

“Now,” Jaehyun agrees, shuddering. “Now—oh—” He kisses Taeyong on what must be his own orgasm, because in the middle his teeth catch on Taeyong’s tongue, and whatever semblance of rhythm he’d managed falters. It’s not quite enough for poor Taeyong, though, and he’s left just on the edge, actual tears forming in the corners of his eyes. For two seconds he thinks Jaehyun’s just going to leave him like that, but then Jaehyun seems to come back into himself. “Gosh,” he says, kissing Taeyong’s lips, Taeyong’s cheeks, the tip of Taeyong’s mouth. “Gosh, Taeyong.” He holds Taeyong by the cock and strokes, base to tip, so slow at first that Taeyong really is going to break down crying, and then fast enough to make his head spin.

“Shit, Jaehyun—” Orgasm feels like a rollercoaster, like being in that dumb haunted house all over again. Taeyong comes so hard it feels like he’s reached a whole other plane of existence, but it’s okay, because Jaehyun’s with him, Jaehyun’s holding him. It feels like Taeyong spends entire hours floating weightless and spacey. “Holy mother of God we have to do that again _immediately_ ,” he says when he’s finally capable of speech again, wrapped around Jaehyun like some sort of horny koala. “And like… testing. Fuck. I want to taste you—”

“I want to taste _you_ ,” Jaehyun agrees. “I mean you smell—never mind.” He breaks off looking shy again and Taeyong risks opening an eye to look at him. It’s a mistake because Jaehyun’s looking back at him, but they end up kissing again for a while, so. It’s not all bad.

Eventually they have to separate and dispose of the condoms, tying them off and going to put them in the kitchen trash can because that goes out most frequently. Taeyong’s horrified about the situation but Jaehyun assures him it’ll be fine—he’ll take the trash out straight after dinner, honest.

It’s therefore easy to stay over at Jaehyun’s that night. Taeyong claims he wants to make sure the trash really goes out. He’s not a stranger to either Sicheng or Jungwoo at this point, but even that doesn’t mean he wants them finding his and Jaehyun’s used condoms.

“I’ll cook,” Taeyong says to get Jaehyun to stop smirking at him. “Stop making that face. You look like a pervert.”

Jaehyun just makes an even worse face.

Jungwoo and Sicheng eventually come home for dinner, and it reminds Taeyong of when Doyoung was a freshman and they were still living in the dorms. There’s laughter and good food and Jaehyun getting teased until his ears seem to turn permanently pink, because of the love bites and the bruises and the way Taeyong winces when he sees their wooden kitchen furniture. 

Before bed, they share a shower.

“I love your hair,” Taeyong says, watching the water turn it almost black. “I can’t wait until mine’s grown out and I can dye it again.”

“Mmm,” Jaehyun says, arranging Taeyong’s hair so that he’s got a horn. “Why didn’t you before?”

“Army,” Taeyong says. “Doyoungie and I both enlisted in 2016.”

Jaehyun hums again, nudging so that Taeyong tilts his head under the spray, eyes closed to keep the shampoo out.

“Have you already gone?” he asks through the rush of hot water.

Jaehyun has him spin around so he can wash the back of his head. “No,” he says.

Taeyong blinks, somehow not getting soap in his eyes. “What?”

“Down,” Jaehyun says, directing, and Taeyong tips his head back down, amused despite himself. “And no.”

“Huh,” Taeyong says.

“Now you do me,” Jaehyun says, turning so Taeyong can put shampoo in his hair.

“This is utterly domestic,” Taeyong can’t help but say, even as he starts to lather the roots of Jaehyun’s hair.

“You had my dick in you not three hours ago,” Jaehyun says. “Get used to it.”

And really, he was asking to get pinned to the shower wall and kissed within an inch of his life, shampoo still clinging to his bangs, making Taeyong’s hands slippery and sudsy and perfectly prepared to reach down and wrap his hand around both of them.

* * *

“You really haven’t enlisted?” Taeyong says the next morning, lying curled up naked under the covers in Jaehyun’s too-small-for-two-grown-men bed. Jaehyun’s got an arm hooked behind his head; Taeyong’s got his chin resting just at the slope of skin where his arm meets his torso; the sun’s barely up, and they’re awake just talking. Jaehyun smells like clean sheets and his body wash and something inherently masculine. He makes Taeyong’s toes curl. He has intelligent opinions about the music industry, is all ears for Taeyong’s various complaints about fashion and his professors, even wants to see photos of Taeyong’s baby nephew, who’s only two years old. He’s kind of perfect. Taeyong wants to pinch himself awake. But… the army?

“I really haven’t,” says Jaehyun, yawning. He tips his head to the side and Taeyong realizes he’s stopped petting him. He grins despite himself and resumes, tangling all five fingers of one hand into the liquid silver of Jaehyun’s hair. “I’m planning on going after I graduate.”

Taeyong blinks. “Oh,” he says.

“Or maybe later,” Jaehyun continues. “Like, I want to do culinary school.” For some reason Jaehyun sounds shy, and Taeyong lifts his head so he can look at him. He has to move around on the bed so that they end up more firmly pressed together, their nakedness all the more apparent when one of Taeyong’s thighs ends up between Jaehyun’s, hot and burning.

“Is this where I tell you your cooking is literally so good it got me into bed with you?”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes, grinning, but his ears are flushing again.

Taeyong pokes him in a dimple. “You’ll make an amazing chef, Jaehyunnie.”

Jaehyun makes a pleased sounding noise then rubs his cheek more solidly into Taeyong’s fingers, very much like a cat.

Taeyong drops his head back down onto his chest and yawns. “It’s kind of weird that you’re waiting so long to enlist,” he says, muffled by skin and involuntary reflex.

“Not really,” Jaehyun says. His arm slides down the bed so that it’s resting on Taeyong’s bare hip instead of right beside his ear. He pauses, tone going hesitant. “Is it?”

“No, you’re right,” says Taeyong. And it’s not a problem, honestly, only—

“—but don’t you think that’s weird? Like, you and I enlisted right after sophomore and freshman year,” he ends up telling Doyoung the moment Jaehyun has shooed him out of the apartment because they’ve both got classes. “I mean, it’s not a deal breaker, or anything. He’s a good person. And funny. And pretty. And good in bed—”

“Taeyong-hyung, for the last time, that is _too much information_ ,” says Doyoung, with great pain in his voice.

“Doyoung,” Taeyong wines. “I need guidance.”

“It’s not weird,” Doyoung says. “It’s perfectly fine. Jaehyunnie’s younger than I am, Taeyong-hyung.”

For some reason that’s not comforting, but Taeyong’s late to his lecture, so he nods anyway. “You’re right,” he says. Then, just before the door closes, “And he really is _phenomenal_ in bed—”

Doyoung totally hurls a shoe at him and the thud it makes on the other side of the door is enough to put a spring in Taeyong’s step the entire walk to class.

* * *

Taeyong really can’t help but feel his and Jaehyun’s age difference that weekend, in a club called Noise. There’s lights and alcohol and lots of people dancing and Taeyong has been in his share of clubs before, gone out dancing with his share of significant others before, but this isn’t his scene. He hadn’t thought it was Jaehyun’s scene either, but Jaehyun swears by the weird cocktails, and Taeyong is always there for a weird cocktail. He might be a massive lightweight, but even he has an appreciation for the appallingly dirty names the things have, the poisonous-looking colors.

“Isn’t that a thing?” he tells Jaehyun, leaning in close to be heard over the pound of the music behind them—a song about fire trucks, it seems. “The brighter the color the frog is the more likely it is to kill you?”

“Just drink the Silk Pink Panties, Taeyongie-hyung,” Jaehyun says, pushing the fluorescent pink drink towards him.

Taeyong sighs. “Again, you get one cocktail and then I’m out—please _never_ ask Doyoung for proof, but I get uh… embarrassing when inebriated.”

“Inebriated,” parrots the bartender, an attractive enough man who Jaehyun is on a first name basis with because of the cocktails.

“I was kind of an awkward kid when I started college,” Jaehyun had explained when they’d been standing in line waiting to get in, because it was a Saturday and Taeyong had been studying prior to Jaehyun showing up to boom box under his window with his iPhone. “Byungho-hyung was like my only friend.”

At the time, Taeyong had been too cold to think much of it. (Clubbing, it seemed, not only had a dress code, but was also something Doyoung was shockingly accomplished in, so Taeyong hadn’t been let out of the apartment in anything less than a shirt with a neckline so low it was a wonder it even had buttons.) Now, he levels this Byungho with a look, taking in the styled, dyed hair, pierced ears, definitely made up clear skin, and dark lash line. Taeyong’s spent his whole life being told he could have been cast by an idol agency off the street, but even he feels distinctly squid-like, among the rest of the patrons in the club. It doesn’t help that Byungho keeps calling Jaehyun Yuno, like they’re old friends.

“Why did you change your name when you started college?” Taeyong asks, still holding the cocktail but not yet drinking it. “Jaehyun is your birth name, yes?”

“Hmm?” Jaehyun’s distracted, the club is _loud_ , and Taeyong sighs, deciding it’s best he just throws back the alcohol. It’s sweet, tastes vaguely fruity, and burns going down, because of the vodka. It kind of tastes how Taeyong imagines fruit mixed with rubbing alcohol would. When he’s done, he puts the glass down on the bar, and pushes it back towards Byungho.

“Well?”

Taeyong shoots the man a rather pained thumbs up, before turning his attention back to Jaehyun.

“So,” he says, hopefully. “Dancing?” Taeyong can do dancing. Taeyong loves dancing. Taeyong is rapidly aware of the fact that he definitely loves Jaehyun and would follow him into a fire.

“Dancing,” Jaehyun agrees, resting a hip against the bar and looking down at Taeyong with that perfect, dimpled smile. “Johnny-hyung tells me you could have led the school dance club, if your schedule wasn’t so bad last year.”

Taeyong meets his gaze with pride. “I could have,” he says. “And I was abysmal before Ten dragged me into it freshman year.” He lets the beat of the song pounding behind them move through him like wave. “This is all learned.”

Jaehyun’s pupils definitely dilate; Taeyong’s not sure how he knows because of the dim club lighting, but he knows, wagers he can smell it, somehow, which. That’s the vodka for sure.

“But first—I need to use the bathroom,” says Jaehyun, giving Taeyong whiplash. “Sorry.”

Taeyong must be pouting. He manages to screw his features back into something resembling calm. “Don’t get lost.”

Jaehyun waves a hand at him, then straightens his hair. “Don’t go dancing with anyone else,” he calls over his shoulder.

Taeyong raises an imaginary glass in toast and watches Jaehyun weave through the crowd, following his shiny, silver head as long as possible, until even Jaehyun’s greater than average height vanishes into the slide of dancing, merry bodies.

“So how long have you been seeing Yuno—sorry—Jaehyun?” says Byungho suddenly.

When Taeyong glances at him, he finds the man cleaning the glass he’d downed with a dishtowel, expression purposefully mild and all his attention focused on polishing.

“Since February,” Taeyong says slowly. “But, um, we knew each other from before.” He winces, immediately regretting the addition. No one wants to hear about his and Jaehyun’s unfortunate dating history, and contrary to what Ten says, it’s not really funny. But Taeyong can’t seem to stop mentioning it—thankfully not to the important people, like his sister, or his mother. Random bartenders who Jaehyun knows from when he was twenty and a Freshman making friends in _bars_ , apparently, though? Taeyong’s willing to tell them anything. Fuck. “I was dating Kyungchul too,” he decides to go with. Surely if Byungho and Jaehyun are friends he’ll know the story.

Byungho finishes with the glass and makes it disappear under the bar, catching the eye of a group of girls casually wrapping some poor guy around all their pinkies, ready to flirt themselves an overpriced drink.

Taeyong fights the urge to imaginary toast them as well.

“Kyungchul?”

“Park Kyungchul?” Taeyong says, looking back at Byungho. “Jaehyunnie’s ex-boyfriend? He was mine too.”

Byungho blinks. “Very funny,” he says finally, shaking his hair out of his eyes and running a hand through it in a way that Taeyong finds eerily similar to Jaehyun himself. “Yuno doesn’t have an ex-boyfriend.”

“Look, I get that’s the name on his ID and everything but he’s going by Jeong Jaehyun—”

“I’ve known Yuno since he was twenty,” says Byungho. “And he’s always been gorgeous, but he’s also always been an ice prince. If you get what I’m saying.”

Taeyong… does, but he doesn’t want to. “What—”

“There’s no way he’s dated anyone,” Byungho continues. “Not with how I’ve had to point out all his admirers to him whenever he’s in here.”

Taeyong stares. There’s no way Jaehyun’s just been frequenting this club all the time. Not recently at least. Not with cooking class and Sicheng and Mark and Hong-ahjusshi. Not since Taeyong. Maybe when he was a freshman, a baby, a rich man’s son left out to learn the world all by himself. Taeyong feels analyzed.

“Yuno absolutely doesn’t have an ex-boyfriend,” Byungho says again, and then before Taeyong can even open his mouth, “And he doesn’t mind if I call him that. I’m sorry he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to do so with you.”

Taeyong stares at him with his mouth fallen open, honestly shocked. “Wow,” is what he settles for. He somehow senses the crowd part, catches the tail end of a woman asking someone to dance. “He’s here with me,” he hears himself tell the bartender. “I’m sorry that he’s never shown a passing interest in going out with you.”

“You’ll never believe what people are doing in the bathroom, Hyung,” says Jaehyun, dropping an arm around Taeyong’s shoulders, smelling of sweat and expensive perfume. “And I didn’t even get lost.”

Taeyong turns his back on Byungho so he can kiss Jaehyun right on the mouth, cutting off whatever horror story he was going to tell about the state of the club restrooms.

Jaehyun blinks, startled by how close Taeyong is, but kisses back regardless. “What was that for?” he says once Taeyong’s pulled away.

“Just missed you,” says Taeyong.

Jaehyun’s eyes dart between Taeyong and what has to be Byungho, but Taeyong doesn’t care. He links both hands at the small of Jaehyun’s back and smiles.

“So?” he says. “I believe you promised me dancing.”

“I believe you promised me _dancing_ ,” Jaehyun agrees, and tugs Taeyong off to join the crowd. It’s nearly four by the time they leave, having sweat through both their shirts and unable to stop laughing long enough to properly navigate KakaoTaxi. “Mine,” Jaehyun says, once they’ve gotten one. Neither of them had much more alcohol—one more Silk Pink Panties for Taeyong, and something called a Suck, Bang, and Blow for Jaehyun—but they still get looks from their driver. “Mine,” Jaehyun says again. He means his apartment, probably, but Taeyong is going to take it the other way too.

“Yours,” he agrees. “Only—no funny—only sleeping.”

Jaehyun nods, eyes very wide, cheeks very pink. “Of course, Taeyongie-hyung. Taeyongie. Taeyong. Tyong.”

Taeyong didn’t know he had such a thing for nicknames, but it’s good they have a somewhat decent drive. He’s significantly more sober upon arriving at Jaehyun’s, and the look Sicheng levels them when they catch him coming out of the bathroom does them both wonders.

“I should hose you both down,” Sicheng says in perfect Korean. “You smell like a wet bar.”

“You’re just jealous that Yuta-hyung is in love with Mark,” Jaehyun says, and Sicheng turns scarlet.

“Shut up,” he says, disappearing into his room and pulling the door shut with a pointed click.

Taeyong gapes after him, then gapes at Jaehyun. “Yuta-hyung?” he says. “Sicheng?”

“Well not seriously,” Jaehyun says. “But you saw his ears.”

Taeyong looks rather pointedly at Jaehyun’s own.

“Shut up.” Jaehyun’s so fucking cute when he’s embarrassed. “That’s a psych thing. Projection.”

“About your lie detector ears?” says Taeyong.

“Shut up,” Jaehyun says again. “Or I’ll make you sleep on the couch.”

Taeyong mimes zipping his lips. He doesn’t… like… think about what it was Byungho said, or anything. At least not that night. Come morning it’s a whole other story.

* * *

The thing is—well—Taeyong—Taeyong’s dating history is, evidently, a mess. The last boyfriend he had cheated on him with the current boyfriend he now has. Before that, he was kind of an idiot for the tail end of middle school, too busy studying for most of high school, and, like most teenagers with older, more successful siblings, went through a phase where he would make out with pretty much anybody, but. Since Kyungchul—and Jaehyun—Taeyong’s pretty much ascribed to the age-old adage of “when you date someone, you either marry them, or your break-up.” And since Kyungchul, Taeyong’s done his best not to come on too strong. For all his confidence, all his insistence that he’s _over it_ —better for it, not at all ruminating in it—he doesn’t think he’d be normal, if he was entirely unaffected. It’s hard not to feel damaged, when someone you thought you’d marry cheats on you. It’s hard enough to feel ready to date again, but Taeyong thought—believed—he’s got Jaehyun, and Jaehyun’s—the same, he thought.

Believed.

Jaehyun’s in the exact same boat he is and he’s lovely, and funny, and kind. Taeyong _wants_ to look at Jaehyun and think about getting married and having two point five kids and a dog. Jaehyun is the same. Taeyong thought. Believed. He—Jaehyun and him get along _so well_ , want all the same things.

Only. The army. And.

“Jaehyunnie?” Taeyong says over breakfast the next morning, as Jaehyun fries eggs expertly in his kitchen without a shirt like some sort of walking wet dream, complete with American style bacon so that Taeyong can stop feeling like something distinctly strawberry died in his mouth last night. “How long were you dating Kyungchul?” He doesn’t regret the sentence once it’s come out, but he still shuts his eyes.

Jaehyun doesn’t seem that fazed. “Why?”

Taeyong’s heart stutters. “Just… Byungho said something last night.”

Jaehyun shifts the eggs around in the pan with practiced ease, then glances back towards Taeyong. He’s sitting at the kitchen counter with his bare feet on the rungs of the chair, clutching a mug of very black coffee, and holding his phone. He’s wearing boxers and one of Jaehyun’s t-shirts. His hair is damp from his morning shower. He should feel nothing but content. (He doesn’t. He feels jumpy, panicked, skittish.) He’s been texting both Doyoung and Ten, since he `didn’t come home last night` and is now `unrecognizable as a person called Lee Taeyong.`

“Uh,” Jaehyun says.

“Jeong Jaehyun,” Taeyong says, dropping his chin and pressing his mouth to the top of his phone. “Is what you said, when you first met me. I said ‘Who am I? Who are you? I’m Lee Taeyong, Kyungchul’s boyfriend,’ and you said—”

“Jeong Jaehyun,” Jaehyun says. “I’m—”

Taeyong waits for him to finish this time, but Jaehyun doesn’t. “You’re?” he says. “What was the end of that sentence?” He curls his feet against the wooden chair, trying not to feel on the edge of a precipice. “You know before Kyungchul started begging for forgiveness and trying to act like your shirt was off for completely platonic reasons.”

Jaehyun flinches and Taeyong hates that he notices, hates that his stomach tightens even more.

“Kyungchul-hyung’s one-night stand,” says Jaehyun finally. “But—Taeyong—”

“Ah,” Taeyong says. “Ah, okay.”

Jaehyun very abruptly turns off his stove, turning to face Taeyong with very serious eyes. “Taeyongie—”

“So, you weren’t in love with him, or anything,” says Taeyong. “And you’re not—do you even—do—relationships?” he hears himself say.

Jaehyun gapes at him. “Clearly,” he says finally. “Taeyong-hyung.”

“Right.” Taeyong should stand. “Right. I’m sorry. I’m being—I just—why didn’t you tell me you weren’t his ex-boyfriend?”

Jaehyun’s looking at him almost like he’s never seen him before, and Taeyong wants to scream. “Honestly I didn’t want to embarrass you,” Jaehyun says. “It wasn’t a big deal, I thought, and—he still fucked me over even though we weren’t as serious as the two of you, obviously.”

That’s true. Taeyong should let it go. “Right,” he says again. “Right, so—but you haven’t enlisted.”

Jaehyun stares at him. “Taeyong,” he says. “Why does that matter?”

Taeyong feels anxious and defensive and hungover; like he needs to get out of the apartment immediately. He gets to his feet. “It doesn’t,” he says. “It shouldn’t,” he says. “We’re in completely different phases of our lives, don’t you think?” he says.

Jaehyun _stares_ at him. “No,” he says finally.

“I mean you’re—going to bars.”

Jaehyun sets down the spatula. “One bar,” he says. “Mostly when I was a freshman.”

“You’re just in a vastly different place than I am,” Taeyong says. “Which is fine, I just—”

“Taeyong—”

“We should,” Taeyong hears himself say. “I’m going to go.”

“ _Taeyong_ —”

But Taeyong isn’t listening. Taeyong is gathering his shoes, forgoing socks, his coat, his own shirt. Taeyong’s holding his phone like it’s a lifeline, hauling open the front door, heading for the stairs; the elevator would take too long. He doesn’t know where he’s going. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Home, obviously, but how’s he getting home? How’s he going on the train like this? How’s he going to go back to classes on Monday?

Taeyong ends up in front of Jaehyun’s apartment building, in the frigid March air, alone. He swallows. Johnny. He should call Johnny. He has to call Johnny. Johnny will come get him.

He dials.

He dials.

He _dials_.

Finally, on the third ring, Johnny picks up. “Look, Taeyong, I love you, but I’m kind of _in the middle of something_ , and thanks to you, I had to babysit Jungwoo all Thursday, so—”

Taeyong opens and closes his mouth a few times, more than a little confused. “You—I—Jungwoo—”

“I know you’re the reason he ended up sexiled,” Johnny says. “Given Jaehyunnie is his roommate, and Sicheng is single and pining.”

“What? Hyung, I—”

“Is it important, Taeyong?” Johnny’s tone is short. “Honestly really important?”

Taeyong swallows back his words. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says, around a sob, at his wits end. “Sorry, Youngho-hyung—”

“Taeyong—”

Taeyong hangs up. Taeyong drops to his ass on the sidewalk outside Jaehyun’s apartment. Taeyong puts his head in his hands.

Taeyong cries. It’s not particularly attractive, or anything. He’d hate for anyone to see him.

Something warm drops over his shoulders, covering his face and blocking out the chill. Taeyong looks up—it’s a sweatshirt, warm and fuzzy and smelling like Jaehyun’s body wash, his detergent. Taeyong swallows. He ducks his head to wipe his snot on his arm, shuddering, but hell if he’s using _Jaehyunnie’s sweatshirt_. Because it’s Jaehyunnie’s sweatshirt. It has to be.

Taeyong lifts his head until the fabric falls away enough for him to see Jaehyun, sitting on the sidewalk next to him pointedly looking straight ahead. He’s significantly more dressed than Taeyong is, but nothing matches; clearly, he just pulled on whatever. For two seconds Taeyong forgets that they’re fighting and he kind of wants to laugh. Jaehyun’s _charming_. Everything about him is endearing.

“So,” Jaehyun says finally. “My name is Jeong Jaehyun.”

Taeyong’s mouth opens.

“Legally, Jeong Yuno,” Jaehyun continues. “But I only changed it in high school because my parents didn’t pick hanja for my birth name, and my grandmother wasn’t happy about that.”

Taeyong’s mouth closes.

“When I got to college, I decided I’d go back to being Jeong Jaehyun,” Jaehyun continues. “Like a new start. I… haven’t always been the most… outgoing.”

Taeyong starts to protest.

“I mean I’ve always had friends,” Jaehyun is quick to say. “But more like… admirers.” He bite his lip, and finally looks at Taeyong with something close to a smile. “I know Byungho-hyung calls me an ice prince.”

Taeyong _winces_.

Jaehyun’s gaze goes worried. “Hyung,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what he told you, but…” He stops, looking like he’s choosing his words carefully, then seemingly giving up on that. “Yuta-hyung’s always telling me I shouldn’t trust him,” he says quietly. “He says he’s got an awful crush—he says he keeps sabotaging all my dates.” There’s a beat. “Not that there have been a lot of—I don’t date—just, a girl in high school, and some… just sex, sometimes—then—you.” He looks at Taeyong again, this time painfully, painfully shy, painfully honest. “And yeah, I haven’t enlisted,” he says. “I’ve always said I’d do it once I graduated. I really will, promise, and—” He moves like he wants to touch Taeyong, but somehow doesn’t. “I’m not really going around looking at people thinking about what they’d look like on their wedding day, that’s true, but.” He smiles, and it’s enough to break Taeyong’s heart. “I’m in love with you, Taeyongie-hyung, so.” He shrugs. 

Taeyong chokes back another sob, shoving his head through the head of the sweatshirt for something to look at that isn’t Jaehyun. He gets his arms in the thing. He pulls the hood off his head. He sits there, cold on the sidewalk, next to Jeong Jaehyun. “Fuck, Jaehyun,” he says.

“Also, you’re kind of being unfair,” Jaehyun whispers. “You may be ancient but I’m not that much younger—”

Taeyong laughs but it’s watery and more than a little messy. “Fuck, Jaehyun,” he says again. He slumps against the other with a drawn-out breath. “I’m cold,” he mumbles.

“That’s what you get for running out without even your pants.”

Taeyong smiles, less painfully now. “I’m sorry,” he finally manages. “My last relationship was kind of awful.”

“Fuck him,” Jaehyun agrees. He shoots Taeyong a look. “Are we at the stage where I can comment on his lack of sexual prowess?”

Taeyong shoves him, laughing for real now. “No,” he says. “Yes.”

“Appalling,” Jaehyun says instantly. “He should have brushed his teeth.”

Taeyong laughs some more, then cuddles in closer to Jaehyun, breathing in the smell of body wash right from the source, this time. It’s comforting. “You shouldn’t say all that, though,” he says. “That you love me. It’s too soon. Only been—

“A month? I knew from day one,” says Jaehyun.

Taeyong’s words die in his throat. He’s never felt their age difference so glaringly before. “Jaehyun—”

“Anyway, all that stuff you were saying about us being in different places,” Jaehyun says. “About us wanting different things.”

Taeyong feels the muscles in his arms tense up.

“Bullshit,” Jaehyun says. “I’m just as stupid crazy for you, Taeyongie-hyung as you are for me. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Taeyong winces. “Jaehyun—” 

“I might be younger and dumber and less… sure where I’m going after college—”

Taeyong winces again.

“But all of that is irrelevant,” Jaehyun finishes. “The only thing that matters is this. Us. Now.”

Taeyong finally turns to look at him full on. His ass is going numb on the sidewalk. Jaehyun’s sweatshirt keeps falling off both his wrists. His hair is still damp, and freezing, and dripping down the back of his neck. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is Jaehyun, looking at him with utter sincerity. “And what do you feel now?” Taeyong says.

“That I’m in love with you, Lee Taeyong,” Jaehyun says. “Isn’t that enough?”

Taeyong is going to ugly cry on the sidewalk _again_ , and it’s not even noon on a Sunday. “Yes. Fuck,” he says, shoving tears out of his eyes with both hands. “ _Yes._ Fuck. _Jaehyunnie_ —”

Jaehyun gets an odd look on his face. “Do you want to call me Yuno?” he starts to say.

Taeyong wipes more moisture from his eyes, barking out into startled laughter. “What? No. Where’d you get that idea?”

“I might have called Byungho-hyung,” says Jaehyun. “At eleven a.m. on a Sunday.” He risks a smile. “We might not be able to get back into Noise, for a while.”

Taeyong can only laugh some more. “God, I love you,” he says.

Jaehyun’s ears are pink again. “I love you too,” he says.

Taeyong takes him by the hand, and then leans in for a hug. It’s everything. “My ass is numb,” he mumbles into Jaehyun’s hair. “But I don’t want to get up.”

“Mmm,” Jaehyun says. “I’ll kiss it better.”

Taeyong slaps him on the back, but grins.

They’re still sitting there hugging on the sidewalk when the sound of footsteps reaches them, accompanied by shouting. Taeyong and Jaehyun pull apart and stand. Coming towards them are Mark and Johnny, running and looking panicked.

“Taeyong!” says Johnny as he comes to a stop in front of them, panting. “Taeyong! Are you okay!”

He’s followed by Mark, looking significantly out of breath. They’re both half-dressed in winter coats, fumbling away T-Money cards as they come to stand in front of Jaehyun and Taeyong.

Johnny takes one look at their clasped hands, Taeyong’s gooseflesh covered bare legs, and punches Taeyong hard in the arm. “Yah, Lee Taeyong,” he says. “What the fuck? I came running all the way here because you sounded like you were crying!”

Taeyong would rub at the bruise no doubt blooming on his arm, but that would involve letting go of Jaehyun’s hand, and that’s absolutely not happening. “I was,” he says. “Jaehyunnie kissed it better.”

Jaehyun’s eyes crinkle at the corners and he’s absolutely about to kiss Taeyong some more, but before he can do so, Johnny interrupts.

“You hung up on me!” he says. “Stop making moon eyes at each other, you fuckers!”

Taeyong finally faces forward and takes in his friend, out of breath, worried, and standing there with his arms at his side. He looks at Mark, standing just behind him, also worried, also out of breath. He looks at their messy hair. At their haphazardly put on coats. He narrows his eyes. “Hang on,” he says. “Candy baby. Johnny-hyung. Have you been dating Mark Lee _this entire time_?”

Johnny looks between Taeyong and Jaehyun and sputters. “What? No.”

Mark sighs. “Hyung—”

“Stop changing the subject, Taeyong. I was really worried.”

“I know and I’m sorry,” Taeyong says, dropping Jaehyun’s hand so he can take Johnny’s and giving it a squeeze. “Youngho-hyung, I’m sorry.”

Johnny’s eyes go soft and he takes an involuntary step forward, before schooling his expression. “You should be,” he says loftily. “I was—in the middle of something—”

Mark breaks into startled, nervous coughing.

Taeyong tightens his grip on Johnny’s hand. “Hyung.”

“Look, he was in one of the intro levels I TA-ed spring semester, and then by the time I realized he didn’t actually want to be a business major and just wanted to spend time with me, it was Christmas,” says Johnny hurriedly. “I was trying to be a good friend.”

Taeyong’s mouth rounds in realization. He lets go of Johnny.

“And then, uh, well.”

Mark clears his throat. “Honestly we thought it was funny that none of you realized.” He winces. “Except for… Jaehyun-hyung.”

“I’m just good at everything,” says Jaehyun.

Mark scowls at him.

Taeyong can’t help but fall even more in love with him. “And you were going to tell me when?”

There’s a split-second little moment where Jaehyun looks so terribly worried and so terribly guilty that Taeyong has to take him by the hand again and give him a squeeze.

“Erm, well, there may be some money involved regarding when you all were going to realize,” says Mark. “Like who’ll be last, and all.”

Taeyong turns to look at Johnny this time. His friend stares back. “Don’t look at me,” he says. “That one was all yours.”

Jaehyun’s the one squeezing Taeyong’s hand now, and Taeyong’s heart grows at least three sizes. “I’m just saying think about how mad Doyoung-hyung is going to be,” says Jaehyun. “Wouldn’t twenty-thousand won make that even sweeter?”

“How much did you put on me, Jaehyun-ah?” Taeyong says.

Jaehyun refuses to meet his eyes.

Taeyong sighs.

“Actually, Jaehyunnie bet on Lucas,” says Johnny, to the clear dismay of the man in question.

Taeyong pauses. “Ten’s Lucas?” he says. “Mark’s roommate? Wouldn’t Ten tell him the moment he knows?”

“Oh, Ten-hyung’s known for months,” Mark says, like it’s nothing. He grins. “He put a hundred-thousand won on you, Taeyong-hyung.”

Taeyong stares.

Johnny for some reason looks embarrassed. “He’s got a spare key,” is all he says.

“Wow,” says Taeyong. “Wow, well, who’s left?”

“Sicheng-hyung,” says Mark immediately. “Doyoung-hyung, clearly. Lucas. Hyung and I bet on Doyoung-hyung because it’ll be funny, like Jaehyun-hyung said—”

But Taeyong isn’t listening, too busy silently communicating with Jaehyun, who’s obviously ready to split the difference if they win.

Mark must sense some of this, because he hurries to add, “obviously there are rules—”

“I can’t hear you—I’m busy—Sicheng-ah!” says Taeyong loudly, turning back towards the apartment. “Johnny and Mark are dating! Tell Doyoungie immediately! I know you have his number—”

“You’re not allowed to tell people!” Mark tries to say to no avail. “Hyung, there are rules—”

“You didn’t tell me the rules when I told him,” Taeyong says, phone in hand and message fired off to Ten and Doyoung. “I plead the fifth.”

`I can’t believe you kept the fact that Johnny was dating a 99line from us this entire time, Ten Lee.`

“Hyung!” Mark’s addressing Johnny this time, who sighs.

“He’s got a point.”

“He does,” says Jaehyun, reaching out to fold Taeyong back into his arms. “I love him.”

Taeyong’s face still kind of feels strained from the crying that morning and the drinking the night before. He smiles back anyway, holds Jaehyun right back. “I love you too, Jaehyun-ah,” he says.

“Oh gross,” he hears Mark say. “Jaehyun-hyung, gross. You gave Donghyuck free license to take the piss out of my relationship from pretty much day one, and you’re even worse, and”—he sounds very vindicated—“Taeyong-hyung is old too.”

Taeyong pulls away from Jaehyun, insulted. “I’m not old!” he says.

“You’re a sugar baby too,” Mark tells Jaehyun happily. “Ha. I’m changing your name in my phone.”

“Taeyongie’s still in school,” Jaehyun says reasonably. “We’re in the same class.”

“Only because he went to the army!” protests Mark, clearly expecting more back and forth.

But Jaehyun just glances at Taeyong, worried, and hopeful, and sweet.

Taeyong takes him by the hand again. “Doesn’t matter. We’re still classmates,” he says. “Johnny-hyung’s not even a student anymore.”

Mark sputters. “Johnny-hyung’s not even rich!” he says. “He doesn’t have a job yet!”

Johnny’s mouth drops open. “Hold on—”

“We had 7-Eleven Ramen last night!” Mark continues. “He won’t even let me get beyond first base—”

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” says Johnny, picking Mark up with what looks like zero effort. “Jaehyunnie. Taeyongie. I’m glad things worked out.” He pauses, eyes Jaehyun. “If you break his heart, I break you—”

“Excuse you. If _you_ break _his_ heart, _I’ll_ break you!” says Mark, not facing Taeyong because of the fireman carry, but threatening regardless.

Taeyong finds himself nodding.

“Understood,” says Jaehyun.

“Awesome,” says Johnny. “Be safe, kids.” Then he turns, Mark still over one shoulder, and starts walking.

Jaehyun watches them go with something akin to wistfulness in his eyes. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t meet me when I was nineteen and your student?” he says.

Taeyong narrows his eyes, struck suddenly like this is a really important question, underneath the bluster. “No,” he says. “I’d have fallen in love with you regardless.”

When he glances at Jaehyun out of the corner of his eye, he can see his ears are blushing again. “Oh, good,” he mumbles.

Taeyong leans into him and knocks their arms together. “But all of that’s irrelevant,” he says. “The only thing that matters is this. Us. Now.”

Jaehyun’s mouth falls open. “And what do you feel now?”

“That I’m in love with you, Jeong Jaehyun,” Taeyong says. “Now let’s go inside, before Doyoung figures out I’m at your place, and comes to murder me for learning about Johnny-hyung’s sex life before he did.”

Jaehyun throws his head back and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Does the Seoul Grand Park Zoo even have Guira cuckoos? In this universe where Seoul has a haunted house THEY DO!!!! But seriously, I've put it out there: Jaeyong haunted house WHEN, SM?
> 
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